The Gilded Cage
by scarlett2u
Summary: The turn of the century was a time of beautiful debutantes, titled noblemen and successful, self-made men. In an age of matchmaking mamas and arranged marriages, can true love escape its gilded cage? Chuck/Blair Historical AU
1. Chapter 1

You know how I said I was going to write that historical? Well, here goes….

* * *

In the Year of Our Lord 1897, Paris was the most glittering of European capitals, the impressive center stone in a diadem of international gems.

The ballrooms of Paris were the most crowded.

The ladies of Paris were the most chic.

The conversation and company were the most witty and sparkling.

It was a gilded age….

Or so it was said.

Chuck Bass surveyed the hot, overcrowded ballroom with a bit of ennui. It didn't appear to him to be any more special than that of London or his native New York.

It hadn't been his idea to come tonight, but he'd heard that his closest friend, Nathaniel, the new Duke of Archibald, might be making an appearance and for that reason alone Chuck had decided to investigate. Bass was newly arrived in Paris, here to follow up on some international investments by his father's company.

The collaboration with his father was a new thing too. During the early years of Chuck's life, Bart Bass had ignored his only son and only child. Some said it was because the boy so closely resembled the mother whose life had ended bringing him into the world. Others said it was because the elder Bass had ice water in his veins and cared for no one, blood relation or not. Either way, the result was the same. By the time the neglected boy reached adolescence, he had gotten into more than his fair share of trouble, to the extent of being expelled from his exclusive Manhattan prep school.

For Bart, that had been the final straw. He saw to it that Chuck was packed up and sent to Eton before he could put up much of a fight. If Bart had thought being a world away from home and in the company of reserved lads from the best British families would be a sobering influence on his prodigal son, he'd thought wrong. But being exiled from home and country had taught Chuck some important lessons: the importance of finding friends and forming alliances…and how to not get caught so easily the next time around.

Friendship was precious indeed if it had brought him here to be drinking watered down wine punch whilst standing around watching a flock of society ladies prance about, flirting over their fans and pretending to pay attention to the longwinded stories of their blustering escorts.

Nathaniel was nowhere to be found.

So why was he suffering the boredom of all of this when he might be drinking hundred year old scotch and sampling the pleasures of a pair of Dutch twins at the Moulin Rouge?

Chuck had all but made up his mind to leave, when whispers of excitement began to ripple across the ballroom.

The Prince of Wales was going to be announced! And naturally he would be accompanied by the pair of American debutantes who were his new protegees.

The Sun and the Moon. That's what some witty newspaper writer had dubbed them. The two young ladies were from wealthy families of New York, but there the similarities ended. Though they were said to be the dearest of friends, it would be difficult to find two other girls more dissimilar in aspect and outlook.

The pair were said to be stunningly beautiful and they caused a stir wherever they went. People openly craned their necks to get a look at them and then gawked once they did.

Of course Chuck had heard of them; everyone who was anyone had. But he was Chuck Bass. He was not interested in a new crop of debutantes, regardless of how alluring they were said to be.

Still, if he was there and they were there…he might as well get a look. Besides, Bertie was a friend he hadn't seen in an age.

To anyone who didn't know him, the Prince looked like any other well-to-do, middle-aged gentleman. He was tall and portly, his mustached face lending a distinguished air to his presence. But something other than his faultless posture and his sense of style made him command one's attention. There was power here. Or there would be. His mother was the greatest reigning monarch since Queen Elizabeth and she ruled over an empire over which it was said the sun never set. To be on the arm of her son was more than a compliment to a debutante; it was a ringing endorsement and a prediction of that young lady's future prospects.

The young lady on the Prince's left arm was clearly the Sun and so radiant it was hard to imagine that she needed anything whatsoever to garner attention. She was tall, willowy and fair. Indeed, the glittering lights of the ballroom made her golden locks shine and picked up the sparkle in her blue eyes. She looked delightfully carefree and when she laughed at something the Prince said, her laugh rang out like that of a young child.

This must be her then, Chuck thought, the young lady Nathaniel was aiming to make his bride. Indeed, with her sunny looks and disposition, she certainly brought his friend to mind. She was practically his female counterpart. They would laugh and love and have a nursery full of giggly, blue-eyed, blond babies. A good match, though Chuck himself shivered in horror at the prospect.

Then the Prince's other companion came into view.

And Chuck ceased thinking, almost ceased breathing.

He'd expected her to be beautiful; he didn't expect her to take his very breath away.

The Moon.

Her skin was pale and the perfect accompaniment to the dark waves of silken curls that formed a halo around her head, with one lock teasingly flung over her shoulder. Her swanlike neck was tall and graceful, as she also appeared to be, though she was several inches shorter than her friend. Sensual lips were stretched into a smile and she looked quite gay, though her enormous dark eyes were subtly scanning the room, as if searching for something…or someone.

When her eyes landed on him, she froze, and he felt the breath go out of her body, because the same thing was happening to him.

* * *

Merciful heavens, he looked like Satan himself…or a fallen angel. Wings of dark hair swept back off a face that was unlike any other she'd ever seen. A proud nose, a chin that indicated the gentleman might be more than a tad stubborn…his lips were quite beautiful, even curled in a smirk. Thick, dark brows served to showcase his eyes.

Those eyes.

Perhaps they were the most striking of all his fine features. She was too far away to ascertain their exact shade—Sherry? Amber? Hazel? She could tell, however, that they were dark and set at an exotic slant in his handsome face. And they appeared to see everything. Like how her corset lacings were almost unbearably tight, the little mole on her left breast…and every secret she'd never share, even with her best friend.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. Uncomfortable…yet…seductive.

She released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and tried to break his gaze. But her traitorous eyes had a mind of their own and refused to leave his.

* * *

For his part, he couldn't stop looking at her. An English author and playwright of some renown once said that he would "stand all day in the street" just to see the Duchess of Marlborough, nee Consuelo Vanderbilt, get in her carriage. Clearly that man had never seen this goddess, because one glimpse of her was worth a whole week's wait, at least.

Rude though it might be to stare, he simply couldn't stop. He comforted himself in the knowledge that she was staring right back.

So caught up was he in surveying the as yet unknown goddess that he was startled to find the Prince and his two companions standing right in front of him.

"Bass! Delightful to see you here tonight. I haven't seen you in practically forever. What have you been doing with yourself?"

Chuck often met the Prince at various house and hunting parties he attended with Nathaniel. Although the Prince shared Nate's easygoing temperament, he and Chuck had quickly bonded over their shared interests in men's fashion, sporting pursuits, beautiful ladies and the good life. The Prince had taken an instant liking to the American import that continued to this day.

"Well, Your Highness, I've been in New York learning the family business."

His voice startled her. In truth, she hadn't known what she was expecting; he could've been French or English or from somewhere different altogether. It seemed somehow right, however, that he should be a fellow New Yorker. The deep quality of his voice and the slow drawl were as attractive as his physical features and she wanted him to continue talking. She glanced at Serena to see if she could ascertain her thoughts on the gentleman, but her blonde friend was woolgathering, her mind clearly somewhere else. She rolled her eyes discreetly.

Of course he saw—those eyes wouldn't miss anything—and looked at her quizzically.

She looked back at him, then at the still-daydreaming Serena, and back again. They smiled at each other in understanding and he felt as though they'd just had a conversation, even though they hadn't yet been introduced.

The Prince was still speaking. "Capital fellow, your father. Quite the businessman. Probably the best in New York…and speaking of New York citizens, have you met my companions?" He smiled at both girls.

An introduction at last!

"Miss van der Woodsen, Miss Waldorf, may I present Mr. Charles Bass? He's quite a favorite of mine."

"You honor me, Your Highness." Chuck bowed to the blonde and then to the brunette Miss Waldorf, who graciously extended a gloved hand to shake his.

Their fingers met and clasped and although both were encased by the finest of evening gloves, a shock somewhat akin to a spark shot through them and both were taken aback.

So startled was she that Blair Waldorf almost let go of his hand and stepped back, but he recovered faster and drew her hand up to his lips, planting a brief kiss on the back of it. She felt it even through her silk glove, as tingles crept up her arm. What on earth was he doing to her? It wasn't at all proper! And heaven help her, he made her not want to be proper.

"Bass! Such a devil with the ladies," His Highness chided, only to be interrupted by the bell announcing supper.

Had he been saved by the bell, Chuck wondered. He could make some excuse, get out of there right now. Paris nightlife awaited…and beckoned. But the small hand in the silken glove was still resting in his…and there was no contest.

"Will you be joining us for supper, Bass?"

Chuck's eyes locked with Miss Waldorf's and he'd swear she was contemplating the same thing: fight or flight.

"I'd be delighted." The words slipped easily off his tongue, almost of their own accord, and he could feel her release the breath she'd been holding.

She favored him a smile, one that matched her eyes this time, and he found himself quite satisfied with his decision. Had the Prince asked him to fight a lion at this moment, he felt confident he would've accepted that challenge as well.

Instead Bertie made another suggestion: "Do be a good fellow and escort Miss Waldorf into supper for me."

"My pleasure," his words wrapped around her heart as surely as her arm entwined with his.

The crowd parted to make way for the royal guest and his friends. While the Prince and his blonde companion attracted their share of looks and curiosity, the dark couple behind them set the room abuzz. Separately, they were attractive and elegant; together, they were stunning. There was something in the air between them-a magic, a connection visible to any observer.

Supper was a charming affair. The Prince was, as always, full of witty stories about places he'd been and people he'd met.

"And what a shame that Miss Sparks had to leave the city so soon."

That snapped Chuck to attention. "Miss Georgina Sparks?" he inquired with a frown.

"Yes. Do you know her? I had forgotten she was from New York as well."

Miss Waldorf's eyes flew to Chuck's for confirmation.

"Our fathers move in the same circles and occasionally do business together." What Chuck neglected to mention was that one of those articles of business was some misguided matchmaking. Hell would freeze over before Chuck allowed himself to be shackled for more than one dance to that devious little tart. He involuntarily shuddered.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Georgina, Your Highness. I'm sure she is all settled in at that Swiss finishing school by now. It will no doubt be the making of her. Though it is rather a shame that the convent retreat couldn't be arranged. I would think she'd find the vows of silence and the lack of diversions to be…liberating to her soul." Miss Waldorf's eyes looked quite serious, but the very corners of her mouth were turned up almost imperceptibly.

"Blair!" Miss van der Woodsen hissed.

So her name was Blair. It suited her, he thought. Just like that revealing face did. The eyes and mouth that didn't match made it so easy to read her…and she made for a fascinating tale.

Before anything more could be said, their chaperone, Miss van der Woodsen's grandmother, Mrs. Rhodes arrived at the table just in time to check in with her charges, partake in a bit of supper and chat with the Prince briefly before the dancing began again.

What luck the Prince could only dance with one of his protegees at a time and he selected Serena for the first dance.

"May I have the honor?" Chuck offered his arm to Blair.

"Certainly."

If he'd thought that being on the dancefloor might give them more opportunity for private conversation, he was sadly mistaken. The first set was a lively country dance that kept them moving quickly and being continually separated. Where was a waltz when you needed one?

The Prince came to claim Blair for the next dance and Chuck danced with Miss van der Woodsen, whom he learned was named Serena, was originally from the Deep South, and loved Paris and painting with watercolors. He felt certain she would love puppies and warm summer days as well. A perfect choice for Nathaniel. In the meantime, he was counting down the minutes until he could return to dance with Blair.

When the music blessedly ended and he handed Serena off to her next partner, he made all possible haste to return to where he'd last seen Blair. Alas, some milquetoast of a Monegasque prince beat him to the punch and was already partnered with Miss Waldorf. Chuck was left with a well-endowed French matron who kept murmuring what he assumed were French sweet nothings in his ear throughout their dance.

He looked over to where Blair was smiling up at Prince Milquetoast, looking quite absorbed by whatever story His Royal Boredom was telling. He gritted his teeth. This was unacceptable.

Finally, the current dance ended and he was back with Blair. He didn't understand why slipping his arm around her waist and holding one hand in hers felt like coming home, but it did.

He looked down into those dark, mysterious eyes. "You must tell me how you did it, you know."

"Did what?" Her giggle sounded innocent and carefree.

"Engineered the removal of Miss Sparks from this lovely city."

"I?" She endeavored to sound innocent again. "Whatever would make you think that?"

"It takes one devil to know another." His whisper grazed her ear.

"What makes you think you know me, Mr. Bass?" Her tone was flirtatious. "We've only just met."

"Your eyes…and your mouth." He studied both intently. "One reveals when the other is lying."

"Have you been studying me this evening?"

"You're a fascinating subject, Miss Waldorf." He held her a little tighter. "One I find endlessly alluring." His words were like a caress.

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat. I wonder what it does to a Bass?" She laughed again.

He laughed too. "You don't get nearly enough credit for your wit. Or your beauty. Both are the stuff of which legends are made."

She stopped moving then, and he realized it was because the music had stopped. The dance was over.

A slight flush crept up her cheeks as she pretended to be engrossed in finding her dance card and her next partner.

Another gentleman approached, clearly expecting to claim Blair as his partner.

No way in hell was Chuck letting her go now!

"You're dismissed. Miss Waldorf already has a partner for this set." Then he plucked the dancing card out of her hands and pulled the pages out, ripping them in two and scattering them on the floor. "And every one after."

She gazed up at him in surprise…and perhaps something more. Her eyes widened, her flush deepened and her breath came quickly in little gasps.

"Come on, let's get some air." He took her hand and led her out the nearest door and onto the terrace.

Dear God, did he know what he'd just done? Gentlemen were not supposed to dance with a young lady for more a couple of dances, four at the very most, so as not to monopolize her time with other friends and prospective suitors. To do so was considered rude. Mr. Bass had no respect for that, for dancing etiquette, or her reputation.

She sat down on a wrought iron bench by one of the stone balustrades and told him as much.

"On the contrary, I have the utmost respect for what is important here: you."

Oh, he was a silver-tongued devil, there was no doubt of it. She smiled in spite of herself.

"Isn't the air so much nicer out here tonight? Far easier to converse and dance here than in a crowded, stuffy ballroom." His voice was as seductive as the night air.

"Mrs. Rhodes won't think so. If she finds I'm gone, I'll be in a great deal of trouble."

"Miss van der Woodsen's grandmother? She's likely flirting with an older French gentleman or sneaking some gin into her punch….perhaps both." He grinned.

She gasped. How this man saw so much so quickly, she had no idea.

"The Prince is likely off to find one of his official mistresses and Miss van der Woodsen is probably juggling dancing partners and focusing on making small talk. So…come dance with me again and tell me how you exiled Sparky."

He really was the devil himself. She stepped back into his arms, marveling at how well their bodies fit.

"It wasn't that difficult, to be honest. A simple, anonymous letter to her parents about how she was becoming involved with 'a most unsuitable young man' and they arrived with all due haste."

"And was he so 'unsuitable'?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not! He was quite the catch; he was just someone else's beau," she confessed, not sure why she felt so comfortable spilling her secrets to someone she'd just met. He just seemed like a kindred spirit, one with whom she felt lighter, happier, free to show her true self.

He smiled and whirled her around in the next step of their dance. "Truly, I am proud. Whose?"

She smiled back, looking like a cat who'd been caught in the cream. "Mine."

The smile immediately disappeared from his face. "And where is this wonderful catch of a beau of yours tonight?"

It was her turn to frown then. "He's not in the city, not even in France. He was needed by his family. They're very close."

He pulled her closer again. "Admirable, to be sure, but does he not worry that, while he's away, someone might be getting close to you?"

Their faces were mere inches apart. She wanted to look away, but could not. Those traitorous eyes of his had bespelled her.

"One shouldn't be careless with one's treasures. And certainly not with one so beautiful and unique."

Somehow they had stopped dancing, even though the music played on.

He could hear her heart speed up, though maybe that was his own, and suddenly, more than breath—maybe more than life—he wanted to kiss her.

So he did.

Afterwards, he was never sure exactly how it had happened, how one second they were caught in each other's gaze, breathing the same air, and then suddenly his lips were on hers.

Had he closed the distance between them? Had she? Or had the universe simply pulled together into an embrace?

He didn't know. He only knew that it was like lightning passing between them and he never wanted it to end.

But it had to. Her lips were soft and sweet…and innocent. Were his the first lips to taste hers?

With great reluctance, he tried to pull away. But a gloved hand came up to cup his jaw and her mouth was on his, deepening the kiss.

She sighed into his mouth and he groaned in response. How could a kiss on the lips be felt through one's whole body?

The sound startled them both and they broke apart, panting and still staring at each other.

Years of lessons and strictures were the only thing that enabled her to say, "We—we should go back inside now."

Was he only imagining it, or did she sound as disappointed about that as he felt?

He summoned up all his strength. "Of course." He took her arm and felt her shiver. "Are you cold?"

"I'm fine," she reassured, though she now felt quite chilled, like some part of herself was now missing, that he'd taken it away.

They'd almost reached the door to the ballroom when Serena came flying out of it.

"There you are! I've been looking for you all over."

"We just stepped out so Miss Waldorf could get some air," Chuck began to explain.

Serena was unconcerned with reasons or details. "Just be glad I found you before Grandmother discovered you were gone! Really, Blair, this isn't like you at all."

And it wasn't. Or perhaps it was exactly like her. She only knew that before tonight she wouldn't have left a ball with man she'd just met, told him secrets and kissed him in the moonlight on a Parisian terrace. She desperately, desperately needed to regain control here.

"I think Grandmother wants to go home soon," Serena advised.

Home. Yes, once she was back at their rooms and tucked in for the night, maybe things would appear normal again. Or maybe they would never be the same again.

Chuck and Blair hung back and allowed Serena to outpace them a few steps.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" He hoped he didn't sound like a silly schoolboy asking that, but he wanted—no, needed—to know.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Her voice was quiet and deliberate. "I have a beau, you know."

He nodded. It was a sword to the heart, but it was probably for the best. No other woman had ever affected him so and he was not at all sure he liked it.

"You are amazing, Blair Waldorf. I am very glad to have met you."

She tried in vain to get her mouth to work, but instead her tongue refused to cooperate, as if it knew that opening her mouth would lead to a sob.

She nodded instead.

"There's Grandmother!" Serena turned and looked at the pair following her. They looked strangely sad and subdued. Mr. Bass's arm slowly slid down Blair's and for the merest of seconds, their fingertips touched. It almost looked like they were holding hands, though how could that be? She must be fanciful tonight. How else to explain that she thought she heard Bass whisper to her friend, "Goodnight, my treasure"?

* * *

Chuck Bass awoke at the break of dawn, if "woke" was the right word for it. He'd barely slept, only to be startled into consciousness by dreams of the glorious Blair in a silk chemise, with her hair flowing over her shoulders and her lips pressed to his.

Some breakfast might put him to rights, but he found he had not the slightest of appetite for food or drink.

Last night had shaken him to his very core and he had no idea how to escape this strange, new feeling.

He didn't want to sleep.

He didn't want to eat.

He only wanted Blair.

It was crazy. He had only just met her. He could forget her.

It was one kiss, for goodness' sake! And he was Chuck Bass.

Maybe the punch had been bad.

Maybe he was coming down with an illness.

Maybe he was only imagining how very wonderful that kiss had been.

If he kissed her again….

There was no help for it: he was going to have to kiss her again.

Now that he'd resolved this in his mind, he felt somewhat better…

Though he had a sick feeling that somewhere Fate was laughing at him…

And that she wasn't nearly done with them yet….

Perhaps Fate was only getting started.

TBC

* * *

The English author/playwright who would "stand all day" to see Consuelo Vanderbilt was none other than Sir James M. Barrie. You may have heard of him; he wrote a book called Peter Pan.

Serena loves Paris, watercolor painting, puppies and warm summer days. I love reviews. So please leave me a review and make me smile, or send Blake Lively a puppy. You make the call.

I know this will come as a great shock, but I don't actually own Gossip Girl or Chuck and Blair, who beg you to remember that they belong only to each other.


	2. Chapter 2

They met. They kissed. She sent him away. How do you think that's going to work out?

* * *

Though he might be heir to a Empire of epic of proportions, Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales-"Bertie" to his friends-was currently holding court in the salon of a rented mansion in Paris, watching various young men, all dressed in a fashion made popular by His Highness himself, buzz around his favorite debutantes.

The Prince's greatest enemy was also his most constant companion: boredom. His upbringing had been controlled and shaped by his strict, proper parents and an army of tutors, advisors and courtiers who watched his every move. He had not been allowed to attend Eton, though they'd graciously allowed him to take a few courses at Oxford. After that, his every wish for some purposeful aim in life was denied: he could not be employed, or join the military or clergy. Queen Victoria had even had overruled his desire to be president of the Society of Arts. This made for a frustrating existence for a man with a keen interest in the world. He performed his duties, heaven knew. He'd married a pretty, young German princess and raised several children with her, securing the line for the throne. So no one could complain if his prominent dark blue eyes were always darting around, looking for that next ball, shooting party, or lovely lady to take his mind off his troubles.

A very lovely young lady was standing across the room, and she looked even more troubled than he did at the moment.

He turned to his companion across the card table. "What seems to be troubling Miss Waldorf this afternoon? She's usually quite jolly during these times."

Serena van der Woodsen had to smile. "She's been in a stir all day, Your Highness. She changed her dress three times before we came downstairs and tried her hair in at least two different styles."

"Well, she seems to have selected a most flattering frock and not a hair is out of place." The Prince liked the girls surrounding him to be pretty and fashionable. If they could do that and tell stories and play cards, they would earn his gratitude and seal of approval.

Serena laid down a card and looked over at Blair. Once again, her friend was looking at the clock and frowning. Serena sighed. "I think she was hoping Mr. Bass would call on us today, though she did tell him about her beau and—"

"Speaking of young Bass, there he is!" The Prince nodded.

Chuck Bass, looking every inch the successful young gentleman, allowed his eyes to sweep the room, until they reached their intended destination.

Blair Waldorf.

She'd engaged his attention at the ball yesterday evening, haunted his dreams all night and plagued his thoughts all morning. Though he'd been meeting with business associates of his father's all morning and most of the afternoon, he'd been counting down the hours until he could see her again.

And now here she was, returning the smile he couldn't stop from spreading across his face. It grew wider when he noticed that her eyes and her mouth were in complete agreement…and then faded when he realized she was completely surrounded by suitors in a scene reminiscent of The Odyssey.

And no wonder. He'd spent the night and most of the day telling himself she could not be so beautiful as he'd thought. Once they were away from the magic of candle- or gaslight, he'd be able to see that her eyes were not so luminous, her skin not so flawless, her mouth not so captivating. But he'd been wrong. She was all those things and more in the revealing afternoon sun that streamed through the windows. Dear God, if he'd been this wrong about her beauty, would he be equally wrong about their kiss?

The need to kiss her again was a desperate, visceral thing.

And how exactly was he supposed to do that in a crowded salon?

Chuck frowned and exhaled a sharp breath through flared nostrils. He wanted nothing more than to shove these idiots aside and go directly to her, take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. He'd start with the milquetoast from Monaco and work his way through the horde. Was every single eligible bachelor in the city here?

He was not to be deterred; he was Chuck Bass. Resisting the urge to commit random acts of violence to clear his path, he instead made polite conversation while steadily progressing towards Miss Waldorf.

And just as he was about to declare victory and speak to his intended lady, Mrs. Rhodes breezed in and snatched her away to play the pianoforte for their guests!

Belatedly, his hostess turned to see the mirrored looks of disappointment on the faces of her guest and her charge. She smiled at Chuck in understanding and apology.

"I'm so very sorry, Mr. Bass. Did I interrupt something?" She sounded sorry, but not entirely innocent.

He gritted his teeth. "Not at all, Mrs. Rhodes. It's lovely to hear Miss Waldorf play." It wasn't entirely a lie; she did play tolerably well.

"I feel terrible that I prevented your speaking again. You seemed quite taken with each other yesterday evening at the ball?" Her voice rose just the slightest hint at the end of her sentence, almost as if it were an inquiry instead.

Was she fishing for his intentions?

He didn't bite.

"We shall be attending the comic opera 'His Majesty' tonight at the Palais Garnier. Will you be attending also?"

Oho, so it appeared that for some mysterious reason, Grandmama (he couldn't help but call her that in his head) was on his side. An unexpected but certainly welcome aide.

The Prince and Miss van der Woodsen approached.

"Oh, yes, Bass, that is a splendid idea. You simply must come. In fact, join us in our box. Who wouldn't enjoy a comedy of arranged marriages and confused identities?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say, Your Highness. I'd be delighted to be counted in your party." He tried to catch Blair's eye once more, but she was gazing with great concentration at the sheet music in front of her. Even if he couldn't steal another glance, he could certainly steal another kiss later that evening. The universe, including the Prince and the lady's chaperone, seemed to be amenable.

His mood brightened considerably and he had no complaints when the Prince led him away to talk about business investments in Paris.

Until tonight…

* * *

Cheated. She felt downright cheated.

Blair was consumed with disappointment when Serena's grandmother had conscripted her into pianoforte duty. She'd been waiting ever so long for Mr. Bass to appear. And then to have him snatched from her fingers like a child's favorite toy added insult to injury.

When he'd asked the evening before if he would see her today, she'd dutifully said no, reminded him she had a beau and promised herself that she'd behave with propriety thereafter.

But that kiss…

She just couldn't forget that kiss. Of course it would stand out in her mind; she'd never before been kissed. Yet somehow she knew it was no ordinary kiss. She'd felt it in her body and her soul. It had invaded her mind and it refused to go away, instead playing in a loop.

And now she felt the veriest fool, because she'd sent him away…and she needed him, needed to know if that kiss was a fluke or a fantasy brought on by Parisian moonlight.

Perhaps he would call on them the following afternoon. She could but hope he would, so to that end, she set out to make herself look as attractive and kissable as possible. Hairstyles were carefully evaluated; garments considered and discarded. Her maid Dorota had become quite cross with her.

But it had been worth it!

Or it would have been…had she not been whisked away at the worst possible time.

She'd been quite downcast and struggling to hide that from the company when Serena gave her the glorious news that Mr. Bass would be attending the play with them that evening.

Then she counted down the time until their visitors left.

When they went to take tea with the Comtesse de Languedoc, Blair was already formulating what she would wear that night, even in the face of the many distractions that came up chez Comtesse.

The hours passed slowly and it seemed an eternity until they finally arrived at the Palais Garnier, one of the grandest opera houses in the city.

And there he was, waiting for them.

Serena saw him first, and pointed him out to the Prince. Blair's eyes immediately went to Bass's, and once again she could feel the breath being pulled from her body. Was she doomed to experience this every single time she saw the man? She could not help it, he was so very splendid. The black cutaway coat with tails was tailored perfectly to this form and accented by satin waistcoat in the same color. It contrasted with the snowy white linen of his shirt and the ivory silk brocade of his bow tie. His magnificent dark hair was swept back from his face and crowned with an elegant top hat. She was pleased that while he was in the very latest of men's fashions, he did not follow the current trend (also set by the Prince of Wales) of abundant facial hair and was cleanshaven. Her mind flashed back to how her hands had lingered on his face during their kiss. She blushed.

Another benefit of his smooth face was that it gave her an unobstructed view of his facial expressions and she very much wanted to see if her ensemble was making an impact.

She knew she looked her best tonight. Indeed, she had worked hard to that end. Her gown was an ebony silk dream created by the House of Worth and just recently delivered. The patterned silk featured bold Art Nouveau designs in the form of floral chevron swirls in velvet. The contrast in textures was striking. Her arms were entirely bare, except for some elbow-length gloves with tiny pearl buttons, and the décolletage was low and daring. So daring that Mrs. Rhodes had made her insert a dickey of the finest ecru lace to bolster the neckline. Blair was rather disappointed about that, but relieved that she was allowed to wear the gown at all, as it was a rather mature color and style for a debutante. A saucy little train flared out from the hem and swished delightfully in her wake. She felt feminine and powerful and never more so than when he bowed before and kissed her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.

Oh, he approved, she could tell he did. When he took her arm to escort her to the royal box, her heart soared and she felt all was right with the world.

They had very little opportunity to talk until they got settled into their seats. The Prince was chattering about the plot of tonight's play and how King Ferdinand had wooed the old woodsman's adopted daughter Felice, how Fate was against poor Prince Max and Princess Chloris and how what was in Felice's trunk would change everything. He was unaccountably proud that the production had originated on London's West End.

Normally, Blair would've been hanging on the Prince's every word, as she was a lover of theater and quite a patron of the arts. Tonight, however, the only art she was interested in was that of conversation. And she might be able to enjoy more of that than one might normally expect at an opera house, because the royal box was framed by red velvet curtains and somewhat shrouded in shadows. She and Mr. Bass sat nearest the corner, which afforded them even more privacy.

"Have I mentioned you look quite lovely this evening?" He said it in a voice so low that only she could hear and the timber of his cadence made tingles travel up her bare arm.

Who could think of the play or listen to a Prince with distractions like this?

She smiled and looked down at her dress. "Serena says it's because this shade matches the true color of my heart."

"I would instead say that it's because the night sky is the only thing that could compete with your beauty. Speaking of dark hearts, have you exiled any rivals or executed any brilliant schemes today?"

"Not as yet...," she gave a mischievous grin, "But the night is still young."

Mrs. Rhodes gave the pair a stern look as the curtain came up and the lights dimmed further.

Startled, Blair dropped her opera glasses and Mr. Bass bent over to retrieve them. After he returned them and she secured them in her lap, she squeezed his fingers in gratitude.

His fingers squeezed back, entwined with hers and refused to let go.

She supposed she could have gently but firmly set his hand aside, but even through their gloves she could feel its warmth and it did seem to fit her own with such perfection…

She let it remain and tucked their hands into one of the many silken folds of her full skirt.

It was wrong on so many levels.

He was not her fiancé.

He was not even courting her…was he?

It was highly improper.

She did not care.

Right now, they were in a darkened theater and everyone's attention was on the stage. Surely it wouldn't matter if he held her hand for a few moments?

And then his fingers disengaged from hers. See, it was over already. She tried desperately not to show the pangs of disappointment that shot through her.

But then he was fumbling with his other hand, and suddenly the hand was back, this time free of his white glove! She could feel the warmth of it even more strongly now and she wanted nothing so much as to shed her own glove and feel their fingertips touch without impediment.

The play sped by in a flurry of duets, quartets, septets and even a Beard Chorus ("By the King's decree, we are all of us hirsute.") and all too soon, he was pulling back his hand before the lights came up for intermission.

Serena was enraptured by the story, even singing a rather off-key version "Hail our King in regal splendor" to the Prince. Blair nodded and smiled as her friend prattled on about it, hoping that no one would inquire about her feelings on the topic, as she had not been paying the slightest attention.

It grew worse during Act II, when his hand found hers again. His bare fingers found the top pearl button on her glove, worried it a bit…and then popped it open.

She gasped.

Mrs. Rhodes glanced quickly at her, concluded it was due to the action on stage and let her own eyes return there to enjoy the show.

Blair gave him a warning look, but already his fingers were exploring the silky smooth skin just below the inside of her elbow. Her eyes involuntarily closed in bliss.

Another button was released.

And another….

And another…

He kept looking at her, as though he would stop at any time she wished. The problem was that she wished he would never stop.

Finally, he reached her wrist. She was sure he could feel her pulse racing. It was a wonder the entire opera house couldn't hear it!

Then slowly, inch by inch, he worked the glove off her hand. It slid unnoticed to the floor and their fingers, so long denied and thwarted, were finally free to touch, still hidden by her full skirt. His thumb traced circles and the letter B in her palm, all the while staring into her eyes.

She was under his spell. There was no doubt of it.

So deeply were they caught up that both were taken by surprise when the Finale number, "Ev'ry thought of trouble over, I propose to live in clover", ended and the audience burst into applause.

Awkwardly, they rose to their feet with the rest of their party, Blair fumbling for her glove and using it to fan her face. "Gracious, it is so very warm in here."

Serena was solicitous. "Oh, Blair, did you forget your fan? Here," she graciously handed her own to her friend, "take mine."

"Thank you." Blair reluctantly put her glove back on and prepared to exit the theater. She had waited so long for this time to arrive. Now that it was over, she couldn't help but feel let down.

She and Mr. Bass filed out after their friends, lingering a bit behind the trio.

Suddenly, strong arms were sweeping her into a curtained alcove at the back of the box.

She let out a sound that was half sigh/half laugh as his arms encircled her waist and his lips came down on hers.

The old saying "Familiarity breeds contempt" was clearly wrong; for here, at this moment, it only bred desire.

"You didn't think I was going to let you go without a kiss goodnight?" Like the kiss, his voice went straight through her, sweeping through her veins like wildfire, igniting her very soul…and killing any hope she had of the magic being a one-time thing or simply her imagination. It was real!

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until he nodded, an awestruck look on his face that she was certain must mirror her own.

Good, she was not alone in this.

They were still staring at each other like idiots when Serena ducked back around the entrance to the box to see what was taking them so long.

"Come along, you two. The Prince and Grandmother are waiting." It was unusual for Serena to be the impatient one.

Blair composed herself immediately and took his arm once more, but now her lips and skin felt cold without his direct contact.

She had to make herself think clearly. There were things to accomplish and she mustn't let herself be distracted.

A nagging voice in her head mocked that it was already too late.

* * *

What on earth had she done to him? Chuck Bass wondered for the millionth time.

It was 1 a.m. and he'd spent the last hour after saying goodnight to their theater party simply wandering the streets.

Wandering…and wondering.

If he hadn't been able to sleep last night, there was no hope for this evening's rest. Not after that second kiss.

When she'd looked up at him and marveled in an unsteady voice that it was real, it had so closely echoed what he was thinking, what he was feeling that he hadn't been entirely sure which of them had spoken. He could only nod in relief that she felt it too—whatever this mysterious thing was between them.

He only knew that mere days ago he'd been a carefree man about town; now he was some besotted fool walking down her street late in the night, sure that if he only saw her face again maybe he'd able to sleep tonight. That wasn't likely though. A few isolated lights still burned in the house that the ladies called their base in the city, but certainly everyone was by now fast asleep or preparing to become so.

So it was with great surprise that he spied the lone figure in dark clothing exiting the building and coming down the walk.

At first he thought it just a servant on an errand or perhaps getting a bit of night air, but something about the person sparked his suspicions.

So he followed.

At first a discreet distance behind, then closer…

And closer…

By the end of the block, Chuck had nearly caught up to his quarry and was close enough that he could put out a hand and touch the caped arm….

"Blair?"

She was so startled that she jumped and let out a yelp, whirling around to face him.

"Bass, what are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Hmm, I might inquire the same of you." He raised a brow and squinted to see her more closely.

"If you must know, I could not sleep and I have an errand to attend to." She sounded quite defensive.

"By yourself? In the middle of the night? And in such charming attire? Are those…trousers?" He was incredulous.

She was dressed in black from head to toe, and covered in a voluminous dark cape. From what he could see under the cape, her legs were clad in tight-fitting pants of some sort. Her lovely hair was scraped back severely into a bun and partly covered by a saucy little beret.

To her credit, she flushed to the roots of her hair and frowned.

His lips curled into a smirk. "And whom are you spying on tonight?"

This made her even angrier and he had to laugh.

"If you must know, I'm on a mission….to retrieve some personal property." The haughty look that accompanied this statement was meant to intimidate, but it only served to intrigue him instead.

"I shall come with you. I volunteer myself as your second in command. I am at your service." He bowed low before her.

"I'd really rather you didn't. I have no need of a 'second in command' as you call it. I'm quite fine. You may go home now. I feel certain we'll meet again soon."

"So you've given up the charade that we'll never meet again? This pleases me, but really, you can't expect me to find a lady in the streets of Paris and simply do nothing."

"What do you usually do with ladies you find in the streets of Paris?" she inquired tartly.

Oh, that biting wit. If she only knew…. And if she only knew what he was thinking right now about how her curves filled out those trousers….

He changed the subject.

"Do you usually dismiss people with such ease? I suppose you do. Your maid. Serena. That milquetoast of a prince from Monaco. I am not so easily dispatched." He was Chuck Bass. Even Parisians and the Prince's favored debutantes must know what that means. "Look, the only hope you have of getting rid of me is to tell me what you are up to…and let me in on the act."

She sighed and frowned. "Fine. You may accompany if you wish. I cannot stop you. But when we get to Maison Languedoc, you must promise to allow me to retrieve the items and not interfere."

"Maison Languedoc? The Count's home? Why?" She wasn't exactly answering any questions, only inspiring new ones. He offered his arm and they began to stroll toward their destination in sync.

She remained silent.

"I imagine this is a rather important item to have you contemplating cat burglary," he prodded.

"It is not burglary if the person possessing the items is not the true owner of them."

"Items? As in, plural? Should I have brought my carriage?"

She shook her head.

"Will they fit into a breadbox?" He found was rather enjoying needling her and every frown, sigh and glare was only encouraging him.

"Not the true owner of the items? Hmm…can Monsieur le Comte be a thief?"

"It's letters," she bit out. "A packet of letters. And as Monsieur le Comte is neither the writer nor the recipient, they are not his to possess."

"Whose letters are they then?"

"I'd say they belong to the author."

He looked at her sharply as jealousy surged in his heart. "Are you the author of these letters?" His voice was tight and it felt like he was forcing the words from his lips, but he had to know. The idea of her writing love letters to a much older, much married French comte seemed incredulous, but…

"Of course not!" She actually snorted in disdain. "I've never written nor received a love letter in my whole life."

"I find that hard to believe. No clubs of young men working their fingers to the bone penning odes to your lovely self? And what about that inconveniently absent beau of yours?" He sounded half silly, half serious.

"Oh, he's written to me, just nothing very romantic. Updates on his family, his land holdings, the tenants, that sort of thing."

Any guilt that a gentleman-and where Blair Waldorf was concerned, Chuck Bass was no gentleman-might feel about being on a late-night stroll with another fellow's girl evaporated with the knowledge that only a fool would neglect such a treasure.

"So tell me again why you are about to engage in epistolary espionage?" While he was enjoying their conversation, he really wasn't learning more about the matter at hand.

"Later," she said, coming to a stop. "We're here."

They both looked up at the large house in front of them, a few lights shining in the windows.

"Have you given any thought to how you will actually get in? You aren't going to literally break and enter, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please, give me some credit. I unlocked the floor-length window in the Comte's study when we were here for tea this afternoon."

"If you were here for tea, why didn't you just get the letters then?"

"Because they weren't out in plain sight, silly…and I got interrupted before I could search his desk." She was a little embarrassed to admit the second part. "I told them I had a burning interest in old maps; the Comte collects them."

"And they believed that?!"

"People always believe what they most want to. It's a rather charming foible of human nature."

"Which window is his study?"

Blair was relieved Chuck had stopped asking questions and was getting down to business.

"It's on the east side of the house. The Comte and Comtesse are at the Duchesse de Marny's ball tonight and they leave for the country tomorrow. I have to get the letters back tonight."

Chuck carefully peeked in the study window to be certain no servants were in the room.

"As the smugglers say, the coast is clear."

She grinned at him and he found it impossible not to smile back.

Gently, she pulled the casement open and climbed inside, wincing as the old window creaked as it swung. Chuck followed suit, blithely ignoring what trouble awaited were they caught in this fool's errand.

They looked around the room. Books lined the walls and a small fire was still burning in the grate. A large desk sat at one end of the room. Its surface was clear but for an inkwell, a box of fine cigars, a statue depicting some ancient Roman god and a miniature portrait of some young lady in fashions from two decades past, presumably the Comtesse.

They were going to have to search the desk then.

Blair sighed. There was barely enough light to make out the items atop the desk, much less read papers that were in it.

Chuck went over to the mantel, took an extinguished taper from the candelabra there and lit it with the fire in the grate. His face was instantly illuminated by the candle's glow.

Damn, he was as handsome as the devil himself. The light seemed to pick up the amber lights in his eyes and make them look like burning embers. With his dark hair and clothing, he looked like the night itself had been made flesh.

But she was getting distracted. They were on a mission. And time was burning away, just like the candle in his hand.

She moved purposefully toward the desk and began going through drawers, looking for anything that might be a packet of letters.

No luck.

She tried every drawer in the desk and was still coming up empty. She looked at Chuck in panic.

He was gazing around the room, hoping the Comte hadn't decided to use one of the hundreds of volumes of books housed in the room as his hiding place. If he had, they were completely out of luck. It would take hours, if not days, to search them all.

"Are you certain they're in the desk?" He was dubious.

"They must be. The Comte is a very traditional man. He collects antique maps, for pity's sake! He'd consider them part of his personal business—and all of that is in this desk."

"Hmm…," Chuck looked at the desk a little more closely. "My father has a desk very similar to this one. When I was a child, I used to play under it when he was away…and it had…," he ran his hand over the underside of the desk, feeling around.

Something clicked and a panel dropped down, depositing a packet wrapped with blue ribbon on the floor.

"A secret compartment for privacy!" he finished with a look of triumph.

Blair wasted no time in picking up the missives, quickly looking to be sure they were indeed the items she was seeking.

"Oh, I could kiss you!" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm in excitement.

"And I'll be delighted to accept that as my fee…once we are safely out of here. Hurry!" He locked the panel back in place and moved to extinguish the candle and replace it on the mantel.

As their eyes were adjusting to the new dim, they heard voices coming closer. Chuck grabbed her hand and pulled her behind the floor length gold curtains.

Two maids entered the room, good-naturedly grousing about all that must be done before they departed for the country.

Behind the curtain, Chuck held Blair flush to his person, keeping them as silent and still as possible. He could hear her heart thundering in her chest and see the anxiety in her eyes. Her eyes were so very close to his own. Her lips were so very close. God help him, they were in imminent danger of discovery and all he wanted to do was to kiss those perfect lips again.

But he stood there, perfectly still, eyes locked on hers. They were so very dark that the irises almost matched her pupils. Full of depth and mystery, just like the lady herself.

If being in peril for one's very life meant holding Blair Waldorf this close, then he would happily imperil himself for all eternity.

One of the maids banked the fire and then they both exited the room.

Chuck and Blair stayed still until the receding voices indicated their would-be discoverers had moved further down the hall.

Blair let out the breath she'd been holding in a rush and the noise seemed to echo in the large room. She grabbed Chuck's hand and pulled him toward the unlocked casement. Then they hastily set off into the night.

They ran all the way to the end of the first block, where he forced her to slow down and walk. "No point in arousing suspicions. We're just two people, enjoying a moonlit stroll." He took her arm in his.

"Two people in trousers!" she laughed.

"Pull your cape a bit lower. It is rather a shame that they don't make trousers for ladies. They are very flattering." Unlike many ladies, she most definitely did not need a full skirt and bustle to accentuate the sweet curve of her derriere.

"You, sir, are flattering, but I will not complain, as I could not have gotten those letters tonight without you." Her tone was light, but the sentiment was sincere.

"Speaking of the letters…are you finally going to tell me the whole story?"

They had reached Mrs. Rhodes' rental.

"We shall see," she said coyly. "Come in."

He could not go in that house.

He should not go in that house.

There would be hell to pay were he discovered going in that house alone with a young lady at this hour.

"Serena sleeps like the very dead and Mrs. Rhodes had three nightcaps before she retired. You won't be disturbing anyone," Blair reassured him.

Before he knew it, he was inside the house, removing his coat in the parlour.

Removing her cape and beret, Blair slid the letters out of her cloak pocket and sat down on the settee, with the packet on her lap and her partner in crime by her side.

"Aren't we going to get a look at the inspiration for tonight's adventure?" Waiting was not Chuck's strong suit.

Daintily, she untied the ribbon, almost reluctant now that she finally had the goal of her quest in her hands.

Impatient, Chuck seized the first letter from her fingers and moved closer to the lamplight to read it.

Blair followed suit, slapping his hand. "Bass, don't you dare! See, you already have me at a disadvantage. In the street, you called me by my given name. I do not even know yours," she confessed.

"It's Charles Bartholomew Bass."

"Quite a mouthful. What do your friends call you?"

"I'm Chuck Bass…to my friends."

"Then that's what I shall call you too. As we are friends…and partners in crime."

"Partners share secrets," he reminded her. "Such as…the author of these notes?" His eyes darted to the bottom of the page of somewhat messy script and he gasped.

"Bertie?!"

"Shhh!"

"These are the Prince's letters?" She nodded. "To the Comtesse?" She nodded again.

"The Comte is going to divorce her and he plans on naming His Highness as a co-respondent in the case. That could not be allowed to happen."

"Why? Wasn't the Prince already named in such a suit years and years ago?"

"He was, and it turned out to come to nothing, but he had to testify and he was highly embarrassed. If it happened again, the Queen would be furious!"

"She is a very proper lady," Chuck nodded.

"Princess Alexandra would also be humiliated," she pointed out. "The Prince has done so much for Serena and I, just like Jennie Jerome and Mary Leiter in recent years. They both owe their spectacular matches to his patronage. He made us fashionable when we were not. Perhaps he understands because he has daughters himself."

"Or perhaps he is simply bored and enjoys the novelty of pretty girls in pretty dresses," Chuck pointed out with a touch of cynicism.

"Either way, he is very kind and has been a good friend. He is all that is honourable to us." She didn't know why she found it easy to be so honest and direct with Mr. Bass…er, Chuck.

"You're a good friend, Blair Waldorf." He kissed her hand. "Now be a good girl and read me the first letter."

"What?! We cannot possibly read the Prince's letters!"

"Why not? The Comtesse has read it. The Comte has no doubt read it. We have risked life and limb to return it to His Highness. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a peek? Unless…you don't want to?" Oh, Chuck knew exactly what he was doing with that question.

"Well…as you said, a peek wouldn't hurt." She sounded wistful.

They pulled closer together on the settee and read the first letter.

Then the second.

The third.

Before they knew it, all of the half dozen letters were scattered at their feet.

He gathered them up and tossed them, along with the bow, into the fireplace, watching the flames lick and consume the damning evidence to ash.

"These are 'love letters'?! I am highly disappointed in Bertie," Chuck opined. "Details about parties, dinners, current events? It might as well be a gossip column, a scandal sheet."

"And what, pray tell, do you put in your love letters?" She raised a brow and gave him her best haughty look.

"Well, like my partner in crime, I have never been the author or recipient of such a thing."

"Never? Really? But if you were…what would they say?" Her whispered request was most inviting.

"Surely something more personal than that! Something about her beauty…her wit…her loyalty and bravery." He was looking right in her eyes as he said it. "Perhaps a pertinent quote. 'Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night'."

"Romeo and Juliet," she echoed, a little breathless.

Why was it getting harder for both of them to breathe?

"And of course, something about how I would trade anything for…Just…One…Kiss."

It suddenly seemed the most natural thing in the world to do.

Their lips met and the electricity sparked between them once more—if anything, more powerful than before.

They were alone and unhurried. They could explore, discover, excite, ignite. When his tongue came out to trace that perfect bow of her lips, hers came out to meet it. To dance, to devour, to desire.

Her hand came up to stroke his face.

His lips traveled across her cheek, over her jaw, down the perfect silken skin of her neck, across her collarbone, and slowly, slowly, slowly down her décolletage.

Somehow she was in his lap, one of his hands holding hers, the other squeezing and caressing the curve of her bottom. Who knew trousers on a woman could be so very appealing?

This whole night had been a revelation.

He was never going to stop kissing her.

It was sweet, sweet beyond anything he'd ever before tasted. Every little touch, every little kiss, every little sound just made him want her more.

And he wanted her more than reason, more than life itself…

And then reason kicked in.

He had to stop.

With all reluctance, he raised his head. "Blair…Blair, tell me stop," he demanded hoarsely. "Tell me to go home."

She answered with a sigh and a ragged voice, "Why, Chuck? I want you to stay."

She had no idea what she was asking, he reminded himself.

He stood up, armful of Blair and all, setting her down on her feet in front of him.

"I will be back tomorrow…or later today…or whatever it is now. And then again the day after that. And the day after that and the day after that one. May I?" It didn't really sound like a request.

She didn't respond in words, just one last lingering kiss and a nod of her head.

He was infinitely relieved they had that settled, but he had no idea how was he was ever going to get to sleep now.

To Be Continued in Chapter 3

* * *

Dear Readers, thank you for your kind words and support for the previous chapter. I hope you'll drop me a line and let me know how you felt about this one.

My undergrad is in history and I always hate when I'm reading something and can't tell where the fiction ends and the fact begins (I'm looking at you, Dan Brown!), so here's some background on the fact in this fiction:

Narsuess asked for more description of the Prince of Wales, and while I didn't go into a great deal of physical description in this chapter, I tried to paint a clearer picture of the man and his motivations. To that end, everything in the paragraph that talks about his boredom and background is true. It's also true that he was cited and had to testify in a divorce case (the Mordaunt case of 1870). His letters were read and they were just as Chuck described them. Queen Victoria was not happy about this. The Prince and his mother clashed over many things, but I confess the more I read about Bertie, the better I like him. I think your boy did good, Queen V.

The dress Blair wears to the play is a real gown that is now owned by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Want to see it? It can be found by typing in the Met's website and then adding /collection/the-collection-online/search/106571

The play "His Majesty" is also real. I mean, could I actually make up something called the Beard Chorus?! All the songs and plot points listed in this story are real, the only difference is that the play was put on in London (not in Paris) and it had a shorter than expected run. Perhaps the Beard Chorus was an idea whose time had not yet come in 1897.

The quote about seeing true beauty is from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" was suggested by ChuckBlair08lover in a review. She always inspires me!

To the Guest Reviewer who thought CB should bond over a scheme, this chapter's late night adventure was just for you. I had originally planned for them to scheme later in the story, but you planted the idea in my head. I figured if Bertie could get caught writing letters once….

Special thanks to Chrys1130, SnowedUnderNJ and rayj829 for their support and services as sounding boards.

Until we meet again…in a salon, in the streets of Paris, in a crowded ballroom…but definitely in Chapter 3!


	3. Chapter 3

For everyone who's ever wondered: "This story is rated M, and so far all we've had are some kisses and a risqué glove removal at an opera house. What's up with that?!"

* * *

Warm. She felt so warm, but then she always did when she was with Chuck. Warm and breathless and completely swept away. He was stealing her breath, her soul, maybe even…her heart?

It was pounding wildly even as he broke the kiss, his lips leaving hers but not before they gently captured her full lower lip, giving it a lingering kiss before moving down her cheek. How could a kiss on the cheek feel so magical? They were on the Continent, where people kissed each other on the cheek a dozen times a day or more…but it never felt like this.

He trailed soft, feather-light kisses across her jawline in awed reverence. He was not merely kissing her, he was worshipping her face. That realization caused something in her stomach to flutter and her eyes, squeezed shut in the moment, to fly open and seek his.

As always, she wasn't prepared. She remembered when she first saw him at the ball, speculating what shade those eyes might be. She no longer wondered: they were all those variations and more, they were a kaleidoscope of the colors of night, from tawny twilight to deepest darkness to the coppery streaks of dawn's first light. Those eyes said so much, they saw so much…. She was sure they could see just how very much she desired him.

Thankfully, his eyes closed and his lips once more returned to her cheek, her jaw, her throat, sliding down the silky column of her neck, leaving a length of tingly, highly sensitized skin in its wake. She felt both chilled and heated at the same time.

Someone sighed. Was it him? Was it her? Perhaps both? She had no idea.

Then he was kissing the top of her shoulder, back to her neck…but no, he detoured and went lower instead, adorning her collarbone with a string of tender kisses.

She gasped and cupped his face in both her hands, pulling him close for another kiss. It was meant to be gentle, intimate, but her passion got the better of her and her tongue came out to trace the outline of those sensual lips. Then his tongue met hers. It was a duel or a dance, she couldn't decide, but either way it made for a divine duet. She pulled his lower lip into her mouth, nipping it with her teeth in her eagerness.

He hissed. "Minx!"

The whispered word against the shell of her ear made her draw ever closer, squeezing his strong shoulders.

"I want you, Blair…so much it consumes me." His hands ghosted down her arms, stopping to link their fingertips briefly before sliding over to caress the curve of her hip.

Oh, yes, yes, yes.

His lips returned to the base of her neck, raining kisses down her décolletage, murmuring that she was his sweetheart, his darling. He knew exactly what to say, exactly where and how to touch her….

She was lost in him, so much so that when his hands slid up her body once more and settled at her bodice, she didn't resist. And when those hands gently tugged and the silky fabric slipped to reveal her chemise, she wanted more. When his fingers teased her breasts through their lace-trimmed barrier, the tips tightened into tiny pearls not unlike the buttons on her opera gloves. Oh, how she wanted to feel his fingers and lips directly on her skin.

Apparently she was not alone in this feeling, because his eager fingers ripped the lace trying to push the offending garment aside. Now she was in his lap, face flushed, eyes wide, lips swollen from passionate kisses, and every part of her screaming to be the next recipient of his wicked attentions. She felt no sense of modesty, only a keen and ever growing need for him.

Soon, his velvet tongue would be exploring the pink aureoles he had so aroused…

Soon, his lips would wrap around them and gently suck them into his mouth…

Soon, she would be his…

Oh, yes, yes, YES—

Suddenly, she was shaking—

* * *

Blair's eyes flew open. Concerned blue eyes were looking down into hers.

"Blair! Blair, wake up! Was it a very bad dream?"

Chaos came first. Where was she? Where was Chuck? What had happened?

Then came fury. Surely it was bad enough to be continually chaperoned and have to fight for any time alone with him; now she couldn't even be with him in her own dream?!

"What do you want, Serena?" Blair knew she sounded unreasonably surly, but frankly, she didn't care. "And why are you up? You never waken in the middle of the night."

Serena frowned. "I usually don't, no, but someone was screaming in here." She looked meaningfully at her friend.

Blair flushed to the roots of her hair, hoping she hadn't also been talking in her sleep. "I'm sorry to have startled you. Maybe you can get back to sleep now?" If Blair could get back to sleep right away, perhaps she could return to the lovely dream she'd been having….

No such luck. Serena sighed, placed the oil lamp in her hand on the night table and sat down on the edge of her friend's bed. "Was it a very bad dream?"

"Not bad. Exciting, actually."

"Really?" Serena sounded surprised. "What was it about?"

Blair blushed again. "Oh, you know…it's hard to explain. Dreams never make sense once we're awake."

"You're sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Quite sure. I wouldn't even know where to begin…." There was no polite way to say, "Well, I was dreaming of kissing Chuck and I'd somehow lost my chemise and all my inhibitions when you so rudely interrupted us."

No, silence was golden in this case.

"Well, if you need me, I'm right next door. Just knock and I'll come sit with you."

Blair smiled. "You're a good friend, Serena. I'll be fine, I'm sure."

Serena stood up and moved toward the door connecting their rooms. "Good night, B. Hope you get your beauty sleep."

"I'll need it for tomorrow. Chuck's going to take us driving in park, remember?"

"Chuck?" Serena frowned. "Do you mean Mr. Bass?"

Blair nodded. She hadn't meant to call him by his first name; it had just slipped out. Etiquette demanded that they maintain the formalities.

Serena's frown deepened. "Oh, Blair, how long have you been calling him by his given name?"

Blair remained silent.

"This is not good. B, you've only known him for a month. And since then, he's been everywhere we go. Everywhere. And you two are always off whispering together…dancing…driving…something," Serena sighed. "He seems very taken with you. As you seem with him, but what good can come of it?"

Blair looked down, clearly uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going.

"If gossip can be believed, then Mr. Bass has a quite a reputation with the ladies, and I use the term loosely. And if other rumors can be believed, your beau will be proposing marriage as soon as he clears things up with his family estate and returns to Paris. Lastly, what will happen when your mother arrives in town?" Serena couldn't quite believe the usually pragmatic, clear-headed Blair could ignore these factors.

"What will happen? Why, nothing, Serena. My mother will arrive in her own time, as will my so-called future fiancé. Nothing has changed."

"Really?" Serena looked dubious. "Then why don't you tell Mr. Bass that and ask him to stop calling on you?"

Blair was outraged. "I will not! Mr. Bass is my friend, my very dearest friend…next to you." She was chagrined to discover that the idea of Chuck going away and not coming back made her feel quite ill. "I can't understand why you would speak of him so, especially as he is a friend of the Prince." Blair was struggling to find and take the moral high ground. "How dare you imply that I have been anything less than circumspect, when you…you—"

Serena knew what Blair was going to say and cut her off. "When I was so flirtatious with so many young men when we first arrived in Paris? Yes, that was wrong of me, as you and Grandmother both tried to tell me. But I really felt I had no reputation to lose. My grandparents used to own slaves. It's part of what our wealth was founded on. And my mother left us to go live in Spain with some horse breeder. My father divorced her. I have a tarnished family history, so I don't have the opportunities you do. I can only hope that I meet someone who is willing to marry me in spite of those things and treat me well. That's all I am asking. I just don't want to see you to throw your chances away on someone who will break your heart."

Blair sighed, unsure what to say to comfort her friend. Everything Serena had said was true, even if her friend usually wanted to overlook those painful facts.

"Serena, I'll be just fine. You're not telling me anything your grandmother didn't tell me when we first met Mr. Bass. I just don't want to give up my new friend. Is that so very wrong?" Blair decided to try charm over an argument this time.

"You're sure that he is just your friend?" Serena looked intently at the person she considered to be as close as a sister.

"Of course he is!" Blair smiled brightly and spoke firmly, but if the gentleman who was being discussed were there now, he would have easily noted that her eyes most definitely did not match her mouth. Chuck Bass was her dear friend…who made her smile…and have erotic dreams about him.

"Alright then, goodnight." Serena came over to the bed and gave Blair a quick hug before going back to her own room and closing the door.

* * *

Alone in her room, Blair slumped back against the pillows with a sigh. Now there was no chance of her getting back to sleep. She was wide awake, her mind whirling.

Give up Chuck? Was Serena mad?! How could she be expected to give up the one person, the one thing in her life that made her feel free and happy and accepted? The time she spent with Chuck was always the highlight of her day, even if they were surrounded by other people. And of course, the stolen moments she was alone with him….

Perhaps she was wrong to keep meeting him as she had. She had a suitor; she had never kept that a secret. But neither had she avoided Chuck's hand when it clandestinely held hers or his kiss when they could squeeze in a stolen moment alone together….

Behind the curtains at the Palais Garnier theater…

In the stable after he'd taken them driving the first time…and every time thereafter…

At the conservatory during the Prince of Monaco's musicale…

Behind a fountain at the Jardin des Tuileries….

In the mirrored gallery of an elaborate chateau, smirking at their reflections in the glass…

At the end of one of their late night strolls, of which there had been several following their successful mission to retrieve the Prince's letters…

No, she refused to feel guilty about one single kiss. If all their meetings were just a glorious dream that was going to come to an abrupt end at some point in the future, then she wasn't waking up one second before she had to. No, she wasn't waking up at all.

As if on cue, the soft sound of Serena snoring echoed from the bedchamber next door, reminding Blair that she herself should be sleeping.

And then she heard it.

Clink!

Maybe she'd just imagined it. Maybe she was already back to sleep and dreaming it.

Clink!

It was the sound of a pebble striking the leaded glasses at her window and it was real! A wide smile spread across her face and before she knew it, she was out of bed, sliding into her robe and drawing the curtains.

She stepped back with a gasp when Chuck's face appeared in front of her. Recovering herself, she quickly raised the large window, breathing in the night air and natural musk of her surprise visitor.

"Chuck, what are you doing here?!" she hissed in a whisper. "I thought you went home after our walk earlier tonight. And be very quiet, Serena was up earlier and just got back to sleep. How did you even get up here?"

"To begin, I am here to see you," he gave her a warm smile that she couldn't help returning. "I did go home, but I couldn't sleep. How could I sleep, with my lips still warm from yours?" This last was muttered under his breath and she was unclear whether he was asking it of her or himself. "So I decided to take another walk…and saw your light on. As to how I got up here, I climbed the trellis." He sounded proud. "By the way, there's a loose piece of lattice about halfway up. Very dangerous!"

"Dangerous indeed! What if you'd fallen? You might have been killed! How would I explain that to Mrs. Rhodes?"

"Always practical," he grinned at her. "I feel certain that you would handle the situation of a deceased gentleman on your lawn with the same aplomb with which you dispatched Georgie, got back the Prince's letters and whatever scheme happens to be on your plate at the moment. Do tell me it's a good one!"

"Sadly, no. I was simply planning to go back to sleep." Belatedly she realized that she was wearing nothing but a negligee and robe, with her hair streaming over her shoulders. Her hand went to her head, in a vague effort to smooth down the mussed tresses.

"It's a shame you can't always wear your hair like that." His hand came up and covered hers. "It's so beautiful. I could get lost in it."

He was holding her hand now and it was suddenly very hard to breathe.

His hand left hers and slid down the lapel of the robe, pausing to play with the ties of the sash. "Is this what you wear to bed?"

That voice, those words. He made it sound like an invitation to sin. Her breath hitched.

"Stop being so forward and remember you're a gentleman, Bass!" She pulled the sash from his fingertips and gave them a playful slap, only to find her own entwined with his again.

"You don't really want me to be a gentleman, do you? A gentleman wouldn't have taken you out on a midnight promenade or climbed through your window. I'm just a man, Blair, and one who'd dare far more than that for a kiss from you. Am I to rewarded?"

"Rewarded? Because you can't sleep?" She quirked her brow at him.

"Because I can't stay away from you." He moved even closer to her. "I can't resist your pull. We're magnetic, you and I. Do you feel it?"

Oh, yes, she felt it too. There was definitely magnetism or some other cosmic force at work here. How else to explain the quickening in her blood and the sense of rightness when finally their lips met?

It was better than a dream, this complete assault on her senses. She could smell the scotch on his breath, the night air in his hair, the faint musk of his cologne and his person. She could feel the strength of his body, even concealed by the myriad of wool, linen and silk textures between them. The way he whispered "Blair" in her ear thrilled her, and even though her eyes were closed, she knew that if she opened them, the desire that was shining in his would be mirrored in her own.

It was so, so much better than any dream.

Afterwards she couldn't have said exactly how it happened, but somehow he'd lost his coat and they were entangled in each other on her bed, tasting each other, desperate for just one more touch, one more sip….

Despite her intent to stay quiet, a low sound that was a cross between a purr and a moan escaped her lips…

And that was when they heard it….

Footsteps in the hall, moving with speed and purpose….

Chuck and Blair looked at each, frozen for a millisecond.

Then Chuck dove under the bed covers and Blair grabbed his coat and haphazardly pushed it under the bed skirt.

The door knob turned, its inside workings groaning in protest at the disturbance.

A white-capped head peeked into the room.

"Miss Blair!" a heavily accented voice stage-whispered.

"Yes, Dorota?" There was only so casual one could sound during the wee hours of the morning, but Blair did her best.

"Why you up? I think I hear noise in here. I investigate."

"And then you interrogate. If you must know, I awoke from a dream and I have been trying to go back to sleep. Which is difficult to do, since you and Serena have both stopped in. Who will be next? Mrs. Rhodes? A scullery maid? Why don't we make it a house party?"

Her charge certainly sounded irritated with the interruptions. "I go check fire in Miss Serena's room. She say she cold when you come home this evening. I no want her to come down with ailment, not when you supposed to go driving with Mr. Bass and Prince tomorrow."

The gentleman in question shifted under the covers, planting a delicate kiss on the part of Blair he happened to be closest to: her ankle. She shivered.

"You coming down with something too, Miss Blair?" Dorota looked suspicious again.

"No, no. Just a sudden chill, I'm sure." She sounded breathless, but that may have been due to Chuck's fingers slowly trailing up her calf.

"I add more log to fire. Warm you right up."

"I'm fine!" Chuck's lips planting a kiss on the back of her knee accomplished the task perfectly well on their own.

She fidgeted again.

"You need to relax, Miss Blair. Too much excitement of late."

The maid had absolutely no idea just how excited Blair was.

Under the blankets, Chuck was getting warm and finding it difficult to breathe whilst being smothered by sheets, quilts and a coverlet. When he planted another kiss just above her knee, he made a discovery that made him breathless….

Blair Waldorf was completely bare under her nightgown.

Surely he had died and gone to heaven.

He no longer needed air; he couldn't even breathe—what did air matter?

His mouth went dry and his cock went hard.

Starting at her knees, he slowly, almost painfully slowly so as not to make movements that would be obvious above the coverlet, he traced his fingers over the silky expanse of one thigh. It was flawlessly smooth with a texture no fine fabric or porcelain could rival.

She shivered in bliss.

His lips followed the trail of his fingers up her leg, first with a light brush of his lips, then with the very tip of his tongue. He was starving for just a taste….

Suddenly, she let out a yelp and moved her fingers down to tangle in the waves of his hair.

This was it; he had gone too far. He had lost his paradise. Lucifer was being exiled from heaven.

"Miss Blair, what wrong now?" Dorota sounded alarmed.

"Just…a cramp…in my leg. Probably because I'm cold."

"You want I should massage cramp?"

"No, no! It will be fine," Blair's refusal was quick. "I just need to rest and get warm."

"Covers look all bunchy to me. I could remake bed for you?" Dorota was nothing if not solicitous. She moved to a step closer towards the bed.

Chuck panicked. If he were discovered here now, it was either marriage or expulsion from the house or both. He cursed himself for being all kinds of a fool. He was Chuck Bass. A month ago, he would be where he belonged at 2:30 a.m. in Paris—at a club or a party, swimming in champagne and eager, experienced women. But no, here he was hiding under the covers in the virginal bedroom of society's reigning debutante…and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Like a moth drawn to the flame, his doom was certain but blindingly attractive at the same time.

"NO!" Blair's voice came out in a shout as her hands wound through his hair, stilling all movements.

Dorota froze.

"I'm so sorry, dear Dorota. I am just so very fatigued and need some rest right now."

"I turn out lamp and let you rest then. Goodnight, Miss Blair."

The room suddenly darkened considerably and he heard the door softly close and footsteps retreat down the hall.

He hesitated, waiting for her to push him away. He'd committed the crime; he was ready for his punishment.

But she only sighed and relaxed back into the bed, letting the tension go out of her body.

Did he dare one last kiss before leaving his precious hiding place?

In for a penny, in for a pound.

His lips returned to her thigh once more and her hands entangled in his hair, not to push him away, but to run her fingers through it in a lingering caress.

She was amazing. He pulled himself up beside her and gathered her in his arms, kissing her with all the passion he'd had to attempt to conceal under the coverlet.

She kissed him back with equal fervor, little purring sounds coming from her lips and making them tremble against his. One delicate hand was on his face, the other slid down the row of buttons on his linen shirt, then his undershirt, finding a gap and letting her fingers wrap around the whorls of hair covering his chest. She paused when she came to the spot above his heart, as though she'd just made an amazing discovery.

Even in the near darkness, he could sense her smile.

With no one to judge or interrupt, he let himself smile back.

And then they were kissing again, his hands gliding over her curves, caressing her hip, sinking into her thigh and rising steadily. It was a voyage of discovery.

The little sounds she was making at the back of her throat intensified as he drew his mouth down to the hard little points of her nipples. He kissed and suckled them, right through the silken layers of her robe and gown. Then he put his lips over hers, shushing her without a word.

Right now there was nothing he wanted more than to rip that robe and gown away and make her his. And this was bad. Very bad. Apparently their close call with her maid had taught him nothing. Right now he was ready to take on the maid, Grandmama, a legion of angels and all the hounds of hell to stay with her a little longer.

Which meant he had to go.

To that end, he kissed her lips again and tried to separate their bodies.

"I should go." He sounded just as miserable as he felt about that.

"No!" Her reply was instantaneous and instinctive. Her hand shot out and grabbed his. "Stay," she entreated. "Please? I'm not ready to let you go yet." Would she ever be?

He couldn't see much in the firelight, but he could see those beautiful eyes, sincere and filled with passion, and his resolve started to crumble. He made one last-ditch effort. "Blair, we are flirting with disaster here."

"I cannot help it. It is so very attractive, you see." She wanted him and she was unashamed of that.

"You are so very attractive," he brought one palm up to his lips and kissed it reverently, "that I never want to leave."

"Then stay with me." She pulled his face back towards hers, letting out a surprised gasp when he flipped her and she was suddenly straddled atop him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world then to kiss him, to keep kissing him, and to savor the feel of her body aligned with his. Their bodies rocked and writhed, creating a delicious friction that made every inch of her sensitized, synchronized to him, even through the many layers of clothing between them.

He dared not remove a single garment, because it was the only thing giving him any control. He was so hard for her that he was aching, and he half expected her to be frightened by that. Surely she could feel how much he wanted her? But her lips kept moving against his, almost in time with her pelvis against his, their bodies dancing in the most wicked of waltzes.

She gave another soft cry of pleasure and he wanted her to know then just how very good he could make her feel. He rolled her over again, so she on her back once more, breathless and giggling, and then he slid down the length of body, until he was between her thighs again. It felt like coming home.

She paused, her mouth in an O, unsure of herself and the situation. What was he going to do? Was he…? Were they…? Was she ready for this? Could she say no? Did she even want to? She didn't have any of the answers.

"Shh, sweetheart, I just want to give you pleasure. I want to explore you. I won't hurt you or do anything you don't want. Shall I stop?"

Oh, she had an answer for that, and it was a vigorous shake of her head. "Please?"

He needed no further invitation. Strong hands encircled her legs, his fingers gently exploring the delicate skin on her inner thighs, reverent caresses bringing him ever closer to that magical, mysterious place where her thighs met.

Her breath hitched and she paused again.

He stopped too. He'd gone too far, too fast. All he could say in his defense was that she was irresistible and he'd never wanted anyone or anything more in his life.

Except he couldn't say anything right now, because she was pulling away from him and the sense of loss he felt was quickly replaced with awed surprise and then elation when her fingers went to the sash of her robe and unfurled the knot, parting the lavender silk.

She sat up, sliding it off her shoulders and letting it pool beneath her. All the while her eyes remained locked on his, as if she were seeking permission and…approval?

She was perfect…so perfect…and never more so than when she began unbuttoning the filmy muslin and lace night rail and pulling it away from her body as well.

He may have stopped breathing then. A woman's form posed no mystery to Chuck Bass. He'd long been acquainted with women's bodies. He'd seen the finest and most exotic of ladies and their delights on several continents. But he'd never seen a goddess before, and that's what she was, all porcelain curves with the blush of delicate color on her cheeks and lips echoed in the rosy tips of her breasts, the whole exquisite package crowned by flowing curls that were as dark as the night that surrounded them. Perhaps most magical of all was the knowledge that this was just for him, a gift from her, part of this sacred thing between them—he didn't even know what to label it.

He was overwhelmed. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and all he could do was whisper those words against her ear. He was almost afraid to touch her, afraid that it couldn't possibly be real, afraid to break the spell.

Then she sighed and whispered back, "Before you came tonight…I was dreaming…about you…touching me."

"Where?" He didn't even know where to begin.

"Here," she took his hands and guided them to her breasts. "Touch me, Chuck."

The second his fingertips grazed her skin, the tender aureoles immediately responded, tightening and rising as he lovingly explored them the way a concert musician might begin with a beloved instrument. They both gasped.

He experimented with different touches—lighter, harder, a caress, a tweak of his fingers-gauging her reaction by the little sounds she was making in his ear. It was the most beautiful symphony he'd ever heard.

"Then you kissed me." His arms came round her and his lips and tongue proceeded to draw one rosy nipple into his mouth. His tongue teased it with gentle strokes at first, rolling it around on his tongue, savoring the taste and feel of her.

Oh, his wonderful, wicked mouth. This was so, so much better than her dream even. She bit into her lower lip to hold back the cries of pleasure that threatened to burst from within her.

He moved over to the other breast and it felt just as glorious.

"Then what happened?" His whisper seduced her senses.

"I—I don't know. Serena woke me, because I'd cried out and awakened her." Blair had the grace to blush.

"Don't be shy. It's just us here—you and me. I'm going to make reality even better than your dream." It was the sexiest of promises.

"It already is," she protested, only to be overwhelmed by a moan produced by his hand sliding up her thigh again.

He didn't go slowly. He didn't even try. He just let his hands glide over her smooth skin, all the way to the dusky curls that shielded her sex.

It should have felt strange, foreign, uncomfortable. Gently bred girls did not have male visitors in their bedrooms. They did not remove their clothing for their visitors and they most certainly did allow them to touch them in the most intimate of places. But with Chuck Bass, Blair Waldorf ceased being that gently bred girl and became a woman instead, a goddess who demanded more, more, more of him.

His fingers marveled at the silky-coarse texture, such a contrast to her skin and an even greater one to the warm, wet cleft he uncovered. She was so very warm, almost enough to scald his skin, but he was saved by the slick moisture that had pooled to welcome him. So very wet.

Was it possible she wanted him as much as he wanted her? He found the idea intoxicating.

He was exploring again, his fingers searching and finding the little nubbin of flesh that was her pleasure center and lavishing his attentions upon it.

She almost screamed then, but he put his lips on hers, sucking her lips and her cries into his mouth. He did not stop kissing her, not as he continued to stroke her and his seeking fingers continued their mission until…he slid one finger slowly inside her.

Her eyes flew open. He was inside her! They were connected right now and suddenly she knew what she needed: she needed him. All of him. She bit her lip again.

As if sensing she needed more, he added another finger, swirling, seeking, thrusting in a precious preamble to what his cock so wanted.

It was agony and ecstasy. To be so close to her, to be touching her in this way that was better than he could have ever dreamed—and he'd dreamed about it a great deal over these last weeks—and to know that he had to stop was killing him. She'd condemned him to a long, slow death by desire.

But to see the light in her eyes, the sultry smile…to hear the blissful little sounds she was making…he had never felt more alive. And if her maid, her guardian, her chaperone, her patron Prince and everyone they knew barged in at this moment, he would be unrepentant. It briefly crossed his mind that perhaps marriage would not be a terrible punishment, not if he could spend every night with her just like this….

The tension continued to coil inside her like an ever tightening spring. It went through her veins, through her whole body like a million fluttering butterflies just beneath her skin. The pressure, the pleasure was almost more than she could bear. She thought she would die if he didn't stop, but she felt equally certain she would die if he did.

Her breathing grew ragged as she writhed against him, her body arching into his as his mouth came back to her breast. In her world, there was only his hands, his mouth, his whispered words of endearment…he had become her world. At the touch of his lips and tongue against her sensitive skin, something suddenly exploded inside her. Heat blazed through her. Colors lit up like fireworks behind her eyes. She lost all power to talk, to think; she could only feel. She was suffused with feeling from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

She must have been capable of some noise, for his mouth came up and covered hers, at first to stifle her sounds and then to cover her with kisses.

She pulled back a bit, dazed and struggling for breath. What had just happened to her? She didn't quite know, but she wanted it to happen again.

He smiled at her, as though they were children sharing some grand secret. She couldn't help but smile back.

Then her fingers were at his throat, pulling him back for another kiss…and loosening his tie.

What was she doing? Chuck had resigned himself to going home with either a pair of ruined trousers or a painful erection, but here was Blair, unbuttoning his linen shirt and then going to work on the undershirt below.

Oh, this was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

She looked at him. "I just want to give you pleasure back, to explore you too." She was using his earlier words against him.

"Blair, I should go. It's so late. We're going to get caught…," his voice trailed off as she slid away from him, off the side of the bed, and naked as the day she was born, she strolled over to the main bedchamber door and turned the lock, following suit with the door to the adjoining bedroom.

Never had a security device sounded so sexy.

"Not if they can't get in," she gave him a saucy smile and returned to the bed.

If he'd thought he wanted and admired her before, it was nothing compared to how he felt at this moment. She really was the most amazing woman, and, miracle of miracles, she wanted him. Chuck couldn't help but feel that somewhere in his cursed life he had to have done something right for this to be happening.

But who could think when Blair was pulling his undershirt over his head and then exploring his chest, tracing patterns through the whorls of dark hair that covered it and coming to a rest over his heart, which felt like it was beating so loud that surely the whole household, if not the whole city, could hear.

She was in his arms again, their bare chests touching. They almost jumped from the jolt of what felt like a spark from their contact.

But Blair was not to be distracted from her mission. Her hands slid down his chest, over his abdomen and straight to the buttons on his fly.

The first button came unfastened easily. Men's buttons were larger and fewer in number than those on ladies' garments, so her task proved easier than she might have expected.

This was really happening, he marveled. Reality truly did exceed dreams.

Another button released…

And another….

She gave him a shy smile.

And then the final button was unclasped and she was exploring again. Modern men's fashion in the Year of Our Lord 1897 allowed for a wide variety of fabric selections for men's drawers. They might be sturdy wool, serviceable cotton or some other fine material. Being Chuck Bass, his were naturally the finest of aubergine silk.

But nothing compared to the amazing feel of him in her hand when she found the flap that freed his cock. She froze for a second then, unsure how best to proceed.

He was so very hard. Was this too much for her? Had she even seen the male anatomy up close and personal before? He touched her chin, tilting her face up to his. "Blair, you don't have to—"

It was her turn to shush him with a quick kiss. "I want to." She wrapped her fingers around him. "I want to please you, to pleasure you…" She squeezed him lightly and let her fingers glide up and down his shaft. From the base to the tip, she left no part unattended, marveling how it felt like silk over steel and how he was beautifully and wonderfully made. "You will tell me if I am doing it wrong?"

His eyes squeezed shut in bliss and his breath released in a hiss. "You're amazing. Just touch me."

She needed no further invitation to experiment. Did he like her touch fast or slow? Should it be more of a squeeze or gliding motion? Would he like if she cupped the area below with her other hand while she stroked him?

He seemed to like everything she was doing if his ragged breathing and the low hum that came from his lips were anything to go by.

She felt empowered and emboldened by his response, continuing to study his body as if it were the most precious of discoveries.

The little groove on the underside of the tip…it seemed perfectly made for her tongue and she was curious…. Should she…dare she…lick him?

There was only one way to find out.

She was rewarded with an "Oh, God, Blair!" that was almost a roar and suddenly her hand was covered with the creamy warmth of his release.

"Shh!" She brought her lips to his to shush him. (Dear heaven, please let Serena still be sleeping!) It turned into a lingering kiss which ended in a giggle. "I'm so happy, but I don't want the whole household to know!" she whispered.

"As am I. You are amazing." His voice was low, almost a whisper as well, and his tone serious. Almost as if he were trying to say more than his words could convey.

"I'm also a bit of a mess." She looked down ruefully.

"Have you any linens in your room?"

She gestured towards the pitcher and washbowl on a nearby table, and he fetched a towel and did the honors, kissing her hand when he'd finished. Their fingers entwined and she sank back against him. He planted little kisses across the top of her shoulder and down her arm.

"What time do you think it is?" She squinted to see the mantel clock in the dimness.

"Very, very late…or very, very early. Either way, I should go." He didn't sound happy about it. If it had been difficult to part earlier that evening, it seemed nigh impossible now.

She nodded.

"I will see you this afternoon, however. And that can't come soon enough for me." He gave her another kiss, left the bed and started to resume dressing.

She too stood and slid back into her robe. She felt overwhelmed by the night's developments. Truth be told, she simply felt overwhelmed by him and herself.

He moved toward the window and she followed. "Thank you…for tonight."

"That was just the beginning." He gathered her in his arms for a passionate kiss. "You were made for me." It sounded like a promise.

She was burning to discover the rest of what he could teach her. If there was a brave new world of sensual delights, she wanted him to be her tour guide. She didn't quite know how to put that into words, however, so she settled for another kiss and a whispered, "Goodnight, Chuck."

He opened her window and they both eyed the old trellis with trepidation. Then she took his hand and sneaked him down the front stairs and let him out the front door.

The pain of their parting was almost a physical one. Before the door to the maison closed, he caught one last glimpse of her beautiful face and he made a solemn vow to himself that he would find his way back to her at the soonest available opportunity.

* * *

Alas, that proved not to be until later that night. Meetings at his father's company ran long and he had to cancel their afternoon drive. When he sent a note round to the maison to inform her of this, he promised they would meet at a supper dance later that evening.

The hours dragged by. Finally, he was here at the ball, his eyes searching the rooms for her. Did everything in Parisian society have to be such crowded chaos? Didn't these mobs of people clogging his way know how hard it had been to leave her this morning? How long his day had been without her? How he just needed to see her, touch her hand, smile at her, and kiss her again to reassure himself that the events of last evening were real and not some dream of paradise he'd created in his mind?

In addition to that, he had a new plan that he wanted to share with her. He was eager to hear what her opinion would be.

The wait was excruciating! But finally, he caught sight of her. As always, she took his breath away. She was dancing with a tall, thin gentleman and they seemed to be engrossed in their conversation. Who was that man and why was Blair looking at him so intently?

Surprise, anger, and envy mixed into a potent cocktail of jealousy and went straight to his head.

Then he remembered…

The aforementioned beau who was due to return.

Blair hadn't so much as mentioned him in weeks. So Chuck had allowed himself to forget the man's existence as well. Certainly neither of them had been thinking of him last night in her bed!

Chuck had dismissed the mystery man, not considering him a real threat, partly because he was out of sight/out of mind, but mostly because only a fool would willingly leave Blair Waldorf alone in Paris. Only a fool would leave Blair, period. A fool, especially an absent one, was no threat to Chuck Bass.

Besides, what on earth could stand against the magical connection he and Blair shared?

Chuck had convinced himself he had nothing to worry about, but clearly he'd been wrong.

As he drew nearer to the dancing couple, he finally got a look at the gentleman in question…

And his jaw dropped.

Surprise gave way to shock. Anger gave way to fury.

What on earth was she doing with HIM?!

TBC in Chapter 4

* * *

Author's note: The following is an actual transcript from a phone call to the Fic Police.

Officer: Fic Police. How may I help you?

Me: Yes, I'd like to report a sexjacking.

Officer: A sexjacking, ma'am?

Me: Yes, I started Chapter 3 with every good intention of action and plot development.

Officer: The road to hell, ma'am…the road to hell…

Me: Well, Chuck and Blair got it into their heads to lose clothing and inhibitions…and then I lost control of the chapter. They totally hijacked my original plan for their own sexy time.

Officer: When did you first suspect this was happening?

Me: *flustered* Well, I pretty much suspected it for a while, but I knew we were in serious trouble when Blair got up and locked the doors.

Officer: Shows she cares about security, ma'am. Nothing wrong with that.

Me: You don't understand: I lost control of the chapter.

Officer: So no there's plot development at all?

Me: Well, I wouldn't say that. We learn more about Serena's family history. We learn Chuck has a plan. A mystery man shows up at the end.

Officer: Cliffhangers are healthy in fiction, ma'am. Also, this is a historical fic, right? How's the accuracy?

Me: I tried! I did some more research on menswear for this one. Zippers? Not yet in use. Buttons and suspenders were the watchwords. But I have no idea how many buttons there really were on the fly on his pants. Four didn't seem like too many or too few. There's a shocking lack of detail on illustrations of men's crotches during that time period.

Officer: Not everyone's mind is in the gutter like yours, ma'am.

Me: I keep telling you, it wasn't me! It was Chuck and Blair!

Officer: I'd advise you to start working on Chapter 4 and quit making baseless allegations against such upstanding citizens as the Basses and Waldorfs.

Me: I give up! I'll just have to wait and see what my readers say about the chapter. Maybe they'll leave me a review? I do love reviews. Maybe they even have some theories on what will happen next?

Until Chapter 4, my friends! Thank you for reading and being wonderful.


	4. Chapter 4

A crowded Parisian ballroom. The perfect place for our favorite couple to reunite…or fall apart completely?

"Nephew of mine! At last you appear."

Blair's eyes followed those of her dancing partner, one Mr. Jack Bass, and connected with those of the Bass she'd been seeking all evening.

As always, Chuck Bass knew how to make an entrance. He was a study of light and dark. His dark suit and matching bow tie were perfectly tailored and contrasted with the snowy silk of his shirt. His gait was masterful and confident. Maybe it was his strong shoulders, maybe it was the blaze of dark brows framing those burning, equally dark eyes…. Everywhere he went, he walked in as though he owned the place, whether it was a royal palace, a stable or…her bedroom.

Thinking of his late-night visit the previous evening, Blair's smile widened and her hand unconsciously went to the pink peony nestled in her chignon. It was one of the blooms from the bouquet he'd sent this afternoon with the note apologizing for postponing their drive in the park and stating he'd see her at the supper dance tonight.

Now he was here and those dark eyes, which never seemed to miss anything, didn't seem to even see her at all. They were fully occupied by the gentleman at her side.

"Uncle," he nodded curtly. "What brings you to Paris?" He didn't seem very pleased to see his relation, which puzzled Blair.

Jack Bass smirked (apparently it was a family trait) and surveyed him with a keen, icy blue gaze. "I persuaded my beloved brother to allow me to come supervise your work at Bass Paris, since it is one of your first forays into the business side of matters."

Chuck's frown deepened. "I am sure you will find everything is as it should be. I think my father will be pleased. I also have some plans for possible expansion in the city."

"Oh-ho, let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I will be stopping by the offices first thing tomorrow for an accounting, but tonight we are in the City of Lights and Love and how better to spend the evening than with such an enchanting companion as the lovely Miss Waldorf here?" He may have leered slightly at her as he said it.

Blair couldn't explain the sudden shudder that went through her at Jack Bass's comment and his overly familiar squeeze of her gloved arm. She felt quite uncomfortable and discreetly moved a step away.

"Well, I will leave you to that then. Miss Waldorf, always a pleasure." Chuck gave a slight bow to the duo and prepared to exit.

What had just happened here? Blair was feeling quite lost. She felt like she'd walked in on a play in its second act and she didn't know what had come before and couldn't quite figure out the plot. Chuck hadn't asked to join her for dinner, hadn't requested a dance or even so much as given her a smile.

Where was the lover who'd climbed to her window last night? Who'd kissed and caressed her until she felt like she'd drank too much champagne punch and was quite dizzy?

Perhaps the previous evening was the problem…

All her life, Blair Waldorf had been instructed on proper behavior, how ladies were supposed to behave. And she'd seen things, heard stories of what happened when ladies were led astray from that path, how some gentlemen were anything but. They only wanted one thing from a woman and, having gotten that, were all too prepared to completely forget her and move on to the next. Was she one of these women now?

The threat of tears prickled her eyelids and she bit her lip in vexation.

She'd never before considered that something like this might happen to her. Her behavior was always above reproach. Why, she hadn't even permitted her beau any more liberties than to briefly squeeze her hand. She considered fast women to be fools who clearly didn't understand men at all. And now she was the fool, because Chuck Bass had only to give her a glance, to touch her hand…and she became his willing slave, a wanton.

The problem wasn't that she didn't know what was right; it was that she didn't care. She only cared about him. If that made her a wanton fool, then so be it.

But why had he given her a last longing glance as the front door closed this morning?

Why had he sent her that charming note and bouquet this afternoon?

Why had he even shown up here tonight?

And then she was angry.

How dare he make her anticipate their meeting this evening and then simply abort their plans?

How dare he barely glance at her when she had taken such pains to look her best for him tonight?

How dare he dismiss her in this way?

She was Blair Waldorf and she was going to find him and remind him of that fact.

But first she had to shake Serena, Mrs. Rhodes and Jack Bass. It was all extremely taxing to her patience.

She smiled through dinner but barely touched her food. Her mother, who constantly reminded her of the importance of maintaining a womanly yet willowy figure, would have been proud. When the dancing resumed, she politely took the floor, first with her host and then with Mr. Jack Bass. All the while she was aware of Chuck across the room, though their eyes never met.

Finally, during a lull between dance partners, she decided to make her escape, only to be unable to locate Chuck.

It was rather difficult to search an entire crowded ballroom, but Blair was determined, no matter how many French oafs stepped on her brocade train.

Finally, she had to declare failure. He was not there. Had he left already? Or had she perhaps not been thorough in her mission?

Suddenly, inspiration struck and she looked for a stairwell and headed for the roof.

And there, looking out at the night sky, was her quarry. She was so delighted to see him that she almost forgot she was angry with him.

Almost.

"Ah, there you are, Chuck! What are you doing up here?"

He continued looking skyward. "My friend Theo had a brother Vincent, who was a painter. He died by his own hand several years ago. Vincent loved to paint the night sky, all brightly burning yellow stars swirling about in a sea of dark blue, just like it looks tonight. He painted it again and again. I have one of those paintings hanging in my room. I never grow tired of looking at it. Vincent once said that he often thought "the night is more alive and richly colored than the day.' I cannot but think he was right."

"How terribly sad that someone who so appreciated colors and starry nights should take his own life," Blair offered quietly.

"It was, but he was in torment for many years. Perhaps he felt he had suffered too much for too long. Who can truly understand the mind of another?"

"Not I. For instance, I was greatly anticipating this evening…so I truly do not understand why you are avoiding me."

"Avoiding you?" His shocked tone made it sound like an impossible task. "I was merely giving you time to welcome your returning beau." A slight sneer may have given an edge to his voice.

"My beau? Do you mean…your uncle?" Blair was incredulous.

"Someone who's out of the country handling family matters…and is fool enough to leave you…and with whom you were deep in conversation when I arrived tonight, yes, sounds just like my uncle."

Blair laughed then. "Oh, heavens no! I only met your uncle this evening before the dancing began." Belatedly she remembered that she had received a letter from her own beau, which remained unopened in the letter tray in the foyer of the maison, completely forgotten in the excitement of Chuck's note and bouquet. "And if we appeared 'deep in conversation' it was because we talking of you. He was telling me of some of your most colorful childhood antics. Are you…are you jealous?"

"Define 'jealous.' Really, Blair, what was I supposed to think when I entered that ballroom to find you there with one of my archenemies?"

"Archenemy? But he's family!" Blair protested.

"Since I returned from school and have been working at Bass Industries, he's continually found ways to become a thorn in my side. If he is here now to 'supervise' my work, it is the worst possible timing. I've been working on a new business plan to present to my father, and there is no way he won't try to thwart that…and me." Chuck realized he sounded a bit crazed and paranoid, but surely Blair could understand close enemies.

"What is your plan?" She sounded genuinely interested.

"I was going to tell you about it tonight. I want to start a special sort of supper club, one with live entertainments. Something like one might find at the Moulin Rouge, but upscale, catering to a more refined patron."

"'Live entertainments'? Aren't those usually…naughty?"

"Define 'naughty.'" His grin was wicked. "I want the club to be an escape, a break, not something people feel the need to be ashamed to visit in an unsavory part of town."

"A sort of refined ribaldry then?" She smiled back.

"Exactly! Are you very shocked?" Despite her smile, he worried about her good opinion.

"I think it shows great initiative. Besides, you are rumored to be well versed in the naughty…if gossip is to be believed."

"But current gossip states I've been 'Moonstruck' and only want to be naughty with you."

"Is that true?" The words sprang from her lips without hesitation. Perhaps she sounded too eager for it to be so? She tried to adopt a lighter tone and cooler demeanor. "Because I would hate to think that I searched the entire ballroom and got stepped on many times only to be shunned by you. Look, my train is rumpled!" She whirled around so he could inspect the damage.

He glanced at the soiled white brocade with black lattice designs. "Perhaps, but the gown is no less beautiful, and nothing could dim the beauty of the person wearing it." He kissed her gloved hand and pulled her into his arms. "Surely you know the wait to see you tonight was unbearable. You got my note?" His eyes flickered to the bloom in her hair.

She nodded.

"I chose the pink peonies because they reminded me of your skin," he whispered, a single finger tracing the contour of her chin and then the outline of her lips. "So soft, so perfect, with just the slightest blush…"

He was going to kiss her and she wanted it more, more than her next breath even…

"Charles! CHARLES!" An imperious voice rang out, breaking the spell and making them jump apart.

Blair had never met Bartholomew Bass, but there was no doubt that was who was standing in front of her.

Her first thought was that Chuck looked nothing like him. He was perhaps not overly tall, but his spine was ramrod straight. Where Chuck's eyes shone with dark warmth, his father's were a chilly blue. It was a closed face, not revealing much emotion. She felt certain he rarely sported a smile. Everything about him seemed rigid and removed. He would be a difficult man to read, and he was, standing there looking at the pair of them.

"Am I interrupting something?" Dear heavens, even his voice was cold!

"Of course not. I was feeling heated from the ballroom and Mr. Bass," she gestured to Chuck, "escorted me up to get some air."

Bart continued to stare. As excuses went, he'd heard better, expected better—especially from an old money society heiress. Still, she was a pretty little thing. And she and his son made quite a pretty pair with their similar coloring and coordinated outfits…and matching slightly guilty expressions. He looked at his son again and was struck afresh by how closely he resembled his late wife. It hurt to look at him sometimes: those dark, slanted eyes, the full mouth, even the very shape of his face. It was a painful reminder his Evelyn was gone and even though their son appeared to have nothing of his father in him, Bart would be certain to instill some qualities that would help him protect his heart and their family's empire.

"Father, I don't know if you have made the acquaintance of Miss Bl—"

"Miss Waldorf, yes. While I have not yet had the pleasure of an introduction, I have certainly heard of you. Your beauty is unexaggerated." He bowed low and Blair was surprised his spine didn't crack with the unaccustomed bend.

If he expected her to blush and simper at his elaborate compliment, he was to be disappointed. "I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Bass. It is a rare pleasure to meet such a busy and successful man as yourself." She looked him full in the eye, as if to say, "Oh, I know who you are; I know exactly who you are."

Hmm, a smart girl, and one who didn't try to hide it. Not quite his son's usual type; he was usually concerned with other parts of their anatomy.

"It is true that my work usually keeps me from such frivolities as this. I trust my son has not been so busy carousing that he has forgotten our business in the city?" He raised his brow and looked at Chuck appraisingly.

Chuck, long used to parental criticism, was unaffected by this latest slight; Blair was not.

"We are equally pleased to see your son when he can be spared. He has been very hard at work during his time here. You must be very proud of him, and are sure to be even more so in the future." It might have been a charming statement, if not for the firm edge in her voice.

A rebuke? Bart Bass could not recall the last time a woman, especially a young one, had the temerity to question him. Oh-ho, so the admiration was not simply one-sided. The girl had feelings for his son, it was clear. It was made even clearer by the look exchanged by the pair. His look expressed gratitude and perhaps a bit of warning; hers indicated that she had not even begun to fight for him. They were having whole conversations with just their eyes now? No wonder they were the darlings of the gossip rags. This was not good. Bart had arrived just in time.

It was time to nip this thing in the bud.

"Well, we shall soon see, shall we not? I managed to take a break from business at home to come over here and check on our interests here in Paris," he paused and then went in for the kill, "And also to escort Chuck's intended and her father."

"His intended?" Blair looked confused.

"Yes, his soon-to-be fiancée." Bart smiled and spoke very slowly, as if he were explaining it to a child. "She is a New York native as well. Perhaps you know her?"

But Blair didn't hear the last part of what he'd said. He'd lost her at "fiancée." Fury followed closely on the heels of shock and she glared at an equally confused Chuck.

"I—I think I had best return to the ballroom now. I am feeling much more the thing now." It was a blatant lie. She felt almost ill from the rush of emotions Bart's announcement had just stirred, but if she didn't get out of there right this instant, she was likely to embarrass them all by either shouting, crying or both.

She was retreating? Good! It was time those children remembered their responsibilities and stopped living in some romantic dream world.

Her footsteps were still echoing when Chuck strode up to his father and hissed, "What the hell are you doing, Father?"

"A better question might be, what the hell are YOU doing, son."

"We have been over this before. You know I do not want to marry that girl. I do not want to marry anyone-."

"Anyone but your precious Miss Waldorf, I know."

"I did not say that."

"You did not have to. It is plain for all to see and discuss. And they are talking about it. Everywhere. Son, use your head. The two of you grew up within blocks of each other back home. Why do you think you are just meeting her now? Why is she here?"

Chuck couldn't understand what his father was getting at. "She is making her debut with Miss van der Woodsen. They are protegees of the Prince of Wales."

"But why here? Why not back in Manhattan? Because they have their eyes on a bigger prize. They are looking for husbands."

"Isn't every lovely young woman in the world?"

"They are not seeking wealth; those girls have enough in their own right. They are looking for titled husbands. They will use their dollars to purchase a prince or a duke. That is how the game is played."

For a moment Chuck was speechless. The idea that Blair needed to purchase some titled fop of a husband—it was ludicrous, laughable. Yet Blair was getting letters about her beau putting his estate in order, his tenants….

"Listen, son, she is lovely, without a doubt, but put a stop to this right now. Do not get your heart broken. Give her up. Marry the Sparks girl. It makes sense for the business and for your own good. I know Georgina can be a bit prickly at times, but you can still have your own life after you marry, provided you are discreet about it…"

"That is hardly a marriage then, is it?"

"I can't believe you, of all people, have gone soft on me! How exactly do you imagine marriage to be? Miss Waldorf in a white veil, cozy evenings by the fire, a passel of dark-eyed babies?!"

Both men reacted to the mental picture in completely different ways: Whereas Bart looked at it with derision, Chuck looked at it as all he desired.

Bart sighed. "Charles, I know Miss Waldorf's mother. I tried to befriend her when she started her textiles business back when you were young children. She would neither do business nor socialize with someone whose money and lineage weren't centuries old. You must face this fact: a Bass is never going to be good enough for a Waldorf. I never thought I would say this…Charles, go back to your whores."

He wanted to scream that his father was wrong, about Blair, about all of it. They didn't understand what he and Blair had. No one did. Hell, he barely understood it himself. But he did know this: he was not marrying Georgina Sparks and he was most certainly not giving up Blair Waldorf.

Still, when his father turned to go back to the ballroom, Chuck silently followed. If he could just get Blair alone and talk with her, he could get this all sorted, he knew it.

The piece de resistance of the evening came when they re-entered the ballroom, only to find Georgina and her father already there, waiting for them. Bart made a special point of taking the Sparks over to introduce to Blair and Jack.

"Miss Waldorf, this is the young lady I was telling you of earlier this evening."

Jack surveyed the newcomer with frank interest, while Blair glared at her with undisguised loathing.

Georgina smiled sweetly. "Oh, Mr. Bass, Blair and I are old, dear friends, aren't we, B? In fact, I have Blair to thank for my little visit to the finishing school in Switzerland. However will I repay that kindness?"

Blair smiled back, unfazed. "Oh, it was my great pleasure, Georgie dear. I would be happy to recommend some other suitable destinations for you as well." It was clear that "hell" was at the top of her list and if looks could condemn one to the fiery pit, then….

Chuck Bass was next on the list. If he'd thought Blair might be angry and upset about his so-called engagement to an unnamed woman, discovering that she was her worst enemy had pushed Blair into murderous rage. After one furious glare at Chuck, she refused to even look at him for the rest of the evening, instead dancing and flirting with Jack and every other eligible man in the place.

And so they spent the evening in the same ballroom, studiously ignoring each other but sharing the same thought: When would this cruel and endless night be over?

Not soon enough.

A debutante's schedule was a busy one. During the social season, which usually ran from April to July, she rose in the late morning or at noon. In the afternoons, she might attend concerts, pay visits or drive in the park. She dined around 8 p.m. before the evening activities of opera/theater and balls/parties began. There could be as many as four parties to attend in one evening. The 'day' could sometimes run until 5 a.m. the next morning.

Mrs. Rhodes, however, typically liked to cut the evenings short, stating that she needed her beauty sleep (and multiple nightcaps) and did not wish her girls to get too much exposure. She understood that allure was at least half mystique and that one must maintain the mystery to maintain the glamour.

Blair was never more grateful for this than tonight. Had she been required to go to several other parties and dance and make conversation, she feared her head might explode. Tonight, all she wanted to do was be alone and have time to lick her wounds in private. She could not confide in Serena, not after her friend's lecture about Chuck last night. Serena would no doubt remind Blair that she herself was practically engaged, and if her "dear friend" Mr. Bass was as well, then why make a fuss? Serena might even be relieved that Blair's little friendship was coming to an end.

But Blair was not relieved.

Blair's temples were pounding, her eyes were stinging and there was an ache in her chest that was slowly creeping up her throat. She felt painfully alive and half dead at the same time.

When they entered the maison, it was all she could do not to take the stairs at a run and barricade herself behind her bedroom door. Instead, she forced herself to sit and listen to Serena's stories about the evening, to compliment Mrs. Rhodes on her new evening gown, to politely say goodnight and walk up the stairs in a civilized fashion.

Dorota was waiting to help with her evening toilette, and it seemed an eternity as her gown and layers of clothing were removed and replaced with a night rail and robe. Blair was adamant that she did not wish to bathe this evening and that fifty strokes with the hairbrush would suffice in place of the usual one hundred.

Dorota frowned. Miss Blair seemed…off this evening. They were all in need of a good rest tonight. Dorota stifled a yawn as she plumped the pillows and pulled the coverlet over her charge. She banked the fire, extinguished the lamp and prepared to go.

"Sweet dreams, Miss Blair."

As if she could sleep! Last night she'd lain awake thinking she couldn't possibly give up Chuck. Now, a mere twenty-four hours later, through no fault of her own, fate had taken him from her. Tears welled in her eyes and the breath she exhaled sharply sounded suspiciously like a sob, even to her own ears.

How had this happened? How had she lost control of the situation? Suddenly, she was angry. Angry with herself for not heeding Serena and her grandmother's advice. Angry that they even felt the need to give said advice. Angry with Georgina for reappearing at the worst possible time in the worst possible way. Angry with Bart Bass for being a shark in human form. Angry that she'd ever met Chuck and that the Basstard hadn't so much as hinted that he was nearly engaged to that scheming strumpet.

It was surely no coincidence that the first syllable in bastard was Bass. Perhaps that was the family's original surname. It would suit them, she fumed.

And then suddenly the tall wardrobe in the corner began to rustle.

Blair sat bolt upright the bed, heart racing.

The handle turned from the inside…

And there he was. The object of her thoughts, desires and fury.

"Hello, Blair."

"Chuck!" she hissed, biting back a nigh overwhelming need to scream, "What are you doing here?!"

"I climbed up to your window, crawled inside and have been waiting for you. We need to talk." He sounded as though the explanation was perfectly obvious and climbing into ladies' bedrooms late at night was quite the norm for an American gentleman in Paris.

"Do we?" Her tone was cold and forbidding. A lesser man might have quailed then and there and beat a hasty retreat.

Chuck Bass was not that man.

"Yes, and I was afraid you wouldn't come to the window," he confessed.

"You surmised correctly. Had I come to the window, I would have brought an atlas of the city for you, for you are clearly lost, Mr. Bass. If you are looking for cheap, tawdry women, I can suggest another area of the city…or perhaps you could visit your fiancée instead. I am not certain where the Sparks are staying, but I feel sure if you find the newest, most garish and gaudy hotel, she is certain to be in her element there."

"Georgina is not my fiancée!" he declared firmly.

"A matter of semantics. Your intended, I meant."

"I have no intentions of marrying her. Ever."

"Really?" She raised a brow in obvious disbelief.

"Perhaps my father does. Perhaps she and her father do, but I most certainly do not. I am exactly where I want to be."

"Liar!"

"I have never lied to you, Blair."

Memories of last night drifted back through her mind.

" _I'm going to make reality even better than your dream."_

" _That was just the beginning."_

" _You were made for me."_

She had believed every syllable, to her everlasting shame. A new wave of fury coursed through her and her hand came up to slap that handsome face that so beguiled and then betrayed her.

His hand caught her arm in mid-air and brought her hand to his lips, where he kissed her palm.

Her eyes were still glaring, her mouth still set in a mutinous line, but the very tips of her fingers relaxed almost imperceptibly and curled around his.

He kissed her palm again.

"Basstard!"

"Such a harsh word from such a pretty mouth," he murmured, and then he pulled her closer and kissed her with all the passion he'd been saving up since the previous night.

She should box his ears. She should call him something even worse. She should….never let him go.

Her arms came round his shoulders and suddenly they were entangled in each other on her bed again.

"'You have bewitched me, body and soul'," he quoted Mr. Darcy's line from "Pride and Prejudice". "God, Blair, what have you done to me? My father believes you've made me soft, and I fear he may be right. He thinks I should give you up…but I cannot do that."

She nodded in agreement. "Serena told me the same last night. Mrs. Rhodes has given me similar counsel also. I know you have a history….I know you have a reputation. I know I haven't behaved as I ought…" She blushed and looked away from him.

"Shh, do not say that." A single finger tilted her chin up so she was looking at him again. "With us, there are no rules; there is no 'before.' There's just you and me…and now."

"You and me," she whispered, the tips of their fingers touching before their hands entwined once more.

"No one understands what we have, but it's real. It's the only thing that's ever been real. I will go now, if you want me to, but please don't send me away from you, Blair."

Her only response was to kiss him breathless.

"I do not care what they think, what they say….just stay with me," she murmured against his mouth.

All the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't have drug him away then.

"I want to show you something, something I think you will like. I have been thinking about it all day today," he confessed.

Her eyes lit up and she gave him a smile. "Show me."

His fingers went to the sash on her robe, unknotting it as if he were unwrapping a precious gift.

Then the straps on her nightgown slid off her shoulders one by one. He kissed his way across each shoulder as they went, then down the silky column of her throat, the vibration from the little purrs and happy sounds she was making went straight through him.

His fingers went next to the buttons on the gown, placing a kiss on her bare skin as each successive inch of it was revealed to him. The soft weight of her breasts fit perfectly into each of his palms and he marveled that as he'd said the night before, she was indeed made for him.

His lips followed his hands down, to the well of her waist and the flare of her hips, to the curve of her derriere to the softness of her thighs. There was no part of her that was less than perfect to him, no part he did not want to worship with his hands, his lips, his tongue.

He stopped at her knees and reversed direction, trailing little kisses up her inner thigh that grew deeper with each graduating kiss.

She shivered and purred some more.

Gently, with a hand on each thigh, he drew her legs apart, and without shyness or fear, she opened to him like a bloom to the loving warmth of the sun.

When his fingers gently explored, they both let out the breaths they didn't know they'd been holding. She was so very wet for him.

He took a second to stop, to look at her face—eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, a rosy flush suffusing the porcelain of her skin, little panting breaths escaping from those lush lips. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. There was no way—no possible way—he could ever let her go.

He brought a hand, fingers coated in her moisture, to his lips.

Her eyes flew open and locked on his.

"Just a taste." His voice alone could have seduced her. But when his tongue came out to lick her essence off the tips of his fingers, she felt her whole body respond.

He returned his attention to giving her pleasure, this time stroking the tiny nubbin first with his fingers and then…his tongue.

Oh, oh, OH!

Her body pulled taut like a bow and her hands came down to his head, her fingers weaving through his hair, pulling him closer.

The velvety texture of his tongue against the satiny feel of the skin in her most intimate of places was addictive. He did not rush; instead he seemed to be savoring the taste and feel of her. His tongue swirled and stroked at leisure, as if he could do this all night.

The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building and building. She tried to stay quiet—truly, she did-but a keening cry escaped her mouth as the feeling of lightning spreading through her veins overcame her.

"Shh!" He slid up to kiss her mouth then, silencing her in the best way possible. She could taste herself on his lips. It was unfamiliar, but not exactly unpleasant, and the knowledge that it came from him pleasuring her with his mouth excited her that much more.

They sank back into the pillows, trying to catch their breath, matching smiles on their faces.

He pulled her close to him, sprawling across his still clothed form, her fingers tracing patterns down his silk shirt and across the gabardine of his trousers.

Her fingers went to work on the buttons of his fly. He started to tell her he wasn't expecting anything in return, but her fingers came up and brushed his lips, hushing him with a secret smile.

Tonight's drawers were silk again, black this time, and she found unbuttoning them even easier the second time around. Her fingers closed round his cock, already hard for her.

She smiled up at him again. "Your father thinks I am making you soft? I do not think that is the effect I am having on you."

Ah, that wit. Only she could make mentioning his father in the heat of passion a cause for amusement.

His eyes closed as she continued to stroke him. The warmth of her hand felt glorious, but nothing could have prepared him for when her lips wrapped around him and her tongue set out to explore. She licked him from base to tip, worshipping the very shape of him, teasing and tasting.

When he knew his orgasm was imminent, he tried to coax her back into his arms, but she shook her head.

"Blair, I—"

"There are no rules, right? I want to taste you too."

If he hadn't been ready to come before….he was now, and watching her lips wrapped around him, seeing her and feeling her swallow his essence was a whole new world to him. Being with Blair was like experiencing everything again for the first time—not as it had been, but as it should have been…as it always should be. He felt so close to her, closer than he had ever been to anyone. He pulled her tighter into his arms.

She was so happy. It felt like a miracle given the way the evening had begun. She said as much to Chuck.

"You have no idea the torture of walking into that ballroom and finding you there with my uncle," he confessed.

"Jealous simpleton! The only man I wanted to see tonight was you. And then to find you might be engaged to Georgina!" She shuddered.

"Now who is jealous?" he teased and kissed her on the nose.

She sighed, "Jealousy makes fools of us all, I suppose." A moment passed. "Chuck, that's it!" She sprang up. "I think I have the answer!"

"The answer? What was the question?"

"Chuck, you have to go now. We've tempted fate enough tonight. Besides, I need my rest. I have a plan, and if it works, you will know soon enough. You know, I should make you crawl out that window and down that rickety trellis, just for scaring me so much tonight, but I do not want you to break your neck. I have grown very fond of that neck."

"As I have of yours." He pulled her close again, his lips lingering at her pulse points before sliding over her shoulder and down her arm, pausing again at the sensitive skin of the inside of her elbow.

She let out a blissful sigh. "I don't want to say goodnight," she pouted.

"Then don't. Say 'bonne nuit,' ma cherie." He kissed her again.

"Bonne nuit, mon cheri," she giggled and kissed him back.

It was many kisses later before they were able to finally part, seeking solace in slumber and dreams of kisses yet to come.

To Be Continued in Chapter 5

* * *

Author's Notes:

[Cue up sirens and flashing lights]

Officer: This is the Fic Police. Step away from the writing desk, ma'am.

Me: Is this about the sexjacking I reported in the last chapter?

Officer: No, ma'am, this is about an anonymous report we've received about your abundance of quotes in chapter 4.

Me: Well, I—I don't think I used that many.

Officer: Really, ma'am? Weren't you hoping your loyal reviewer ChuckBlair08lover would give you an inspiring one for this chapter?

Me: Yes, she always does. She did this time too…but I didn't use it. I quoted her instead. It was even better. You know the part about "There are no rules; there is no 'before'"? Totally her.

Officer: You also borrow quite liberally from "Gossip Girl" episodes and a touch from Ed Westwick's new show, "Wicked City."

Me: Well, this is a GG fic. Canon dialogue lends credibility, don't you think? And I loved "Wicked City"! Can't wait for next week's ep. Looking for news and discussion on WC? Check out the Facebook group "Wicked City Group" (hey, it says what it does; it does what it says). The lovely ChuckBlair08lover is one of their admins.

Officer: At one point, you quote the children's rhyme "Humpty Dumpty." How do you explain that?

Me: It just popped into my head, I guess?

Officer: You also use "Come to My Window" by Melissa Etheridge.

Me: It's one of my favorite songs by her. Nobody gets forbidden love like Melissa.

Officer: And the Vincent van Gogh stuff?

Me: It's no secret that van Gogh is one of my favorite artists. Lots of people love him. When I went to MOMA in New York City this August with SnowedUnderNJ, some woman was almost screeching, "Is it, is it, is it?!" in front of the Starry Night they have on display there. Vincent is THE rock star of MOMA.

Officer: Ma'am, that woman was you, wasn't it?

Me: I don't have to answer that. Do I need to call a lawyer?

Officer: Do you think you do? Do your readers feel you pulled a bait-and-switch at the beginning with Jack Bass dancing with Blair?

Me: Actually, Moonflower26 and thealluretodarkness theorized that it might be him.

Officer: Who was the usual suspect?

Me: Surprisingly enough, it was Carter Baizen. Tons of guesses for Carter. Whether you love or hate him, he does produce a reaction. Speaking of Carter hate, Almaloney33 referred to him as "that insect Carter Baizen." It made me laugh…and sorry that it wasn't actually Carter. I will have to use him in the future, won't I? Wait, that didn't come out right, did it?

Officer: Speaking of things coming out, is it true you hope to write something for Limoversary 2015?

Me: Yes, I am hoping to weave the next chapter in with that. It's why I've been writing like a fiend to finish this one.

Officer: So, if someone wanted to learn more about Limoversary, where might they go to do that?

Me: The Twitter or tumblr account for Paris in the 1920s. We'd love a good turnout from Chair writers, vidders, and artists this year.

Officer: Anything else to add?

Me: Just special thanks to Chrys1130, SnowedUnderNJ (don't miss her latest story, just completed, "Battle Lines") and rayj829 for their beta assistance, and much love and appreciation to all my readers and reviewers. You're the best!

Until the next chapter, vive l'amour!


	5. Chapter 5

Written for Limoversary 2015. Celebrating 8 years of love, limos and being sure.

This is dedicated to all the friends I've made through the Gossip Girl fandom. You are very dear to me. Special shout-out to Almaloney33 and the friend who was kept waiting 30 minutes in a café during the reading of chapter 4—you both know the meaning of friendship. I am still smiling over that review.

* * *

The following morning (well, it was really more early afternoon), Blair awakened with renewed energy and a new mission.

She went through the maison like a contained tornado, studying the newspaper, making lists and drinking cup after cup of strong French coffee.

She'd re-read yesterday's note from Chuck at least three times and smelled his bouquet of peonies twice that many times, humming all the while.

It was all very suspicious.

Serena said as much to her grandmother, who pooh-poohed the young woman's fears.

"I am certain all will work out as it should," she said with confidence.

"But how is that, exactly?" Serena was confused. "Blair is downstairs reading Mr. Bass's note over and over again, as if she's trying to memorize it."

"What is wrong with that, dear child?"

"Well, nothing, I suppose…except a letter arrived yesterday from England…."

"And?"

"She has not so much as opened it."

"Oh." CeCe frowned at that piece of news. Personally, she thought Blair and Mr. Bass made quite a pretty pair. The Bass family owned half of Manhattan, it was said, perhaps more. Under other circumstances, any chaperone or matchmaking mama would be pleased and proud that her charge had attracted the attention of so worthy a prospect. But not when the young lady's other beau and possible future fiancé was such a matrimonial prize. For what was a self-made fortune in the face of a centuries old title and estates? It was the golden key. No door would ever be closed to Blair, no back ever turned. History could be created and shaped. Why, just look what little Jennie Jerome had accomplished with Lord Randolph Churchill a few years before! The sky was the limit.

Marriage was hard work, however. No one knew that better than Mrs. Celia Catherine Rhodes. A high title and grand estates might guarantee respect, but not happiness. Without a doubt, it entailed much responsibility. So if her charge was currently dancing about the house, smelling flowers and sighing over pretty notes…well, let her have these little freedoms. A few drives in the park, concerts and opera visits and a handful of dances at balls were just that. Nothing at all to be worried about. Everything would be fine.

She articulated this to Serena, who still looked at her dubiously. Really, she had never known Serena to be a crepehanger and a nervous Nellie before!

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Everything was going exactly as it should, Blair congratulated herself as she whirled around the dance floor.

The pieces were lining up for her scheme to go into motion. Now if only Chuck would arrive! She had not heard from him all day, but she really hadn't expected to. He would no doubt have been under intense scrutiny at Bass Paris by both his uncle and his father, but Blair had no worries. She knew Chuck had been working diligently and neither his supervisors nor his relatives could fault that. It was just the beginning of his career, and it thrilled her to see his star on the rise.

Just as it thrilled her when he finally came into view.

Her heart leapt, then stopped for a second when his eyes locked on hers. Everything else faded away, and there was only him pushing through the crowd and her awaiting him.

Just as the night before, she was dancing with his uncle, but he felt no qualms about that this time, especially when she gave him a little smile over Jack's shoulder and…was that…had she really just…WINKED AT HIM?!

It was doing strange things to his heart…and his stomach. The butterflies could not be contained.

The song was drawing to a close just as he reached her and their anticipation at almost being in each other's arms again, even if it was only on the dancefloor where etiquette must be observed, was palpable.

Jack had barely released Blair's arm when Serena let out a scream.

Immediately all eyes turned to the young woman, who was rushing towards her grandmother, who had slid to the floor in a faint.

"Mrs. Rhodes!" Blair fumbled in her reticule for her fan and smelling salts while Chuck held back the crowd that was forming around the fallen woman, imploring that they give the poor woman air.

Serena took Blair's fan and vigorously waved it around, while Blair alternated between rubbing the older lady's hands and holding the smelling salts under her nose. Slowly, CeCe's blue eyes opened and she looked about in confusion.

Chuck snorted impatiently and reached into his inner suit pocket, pulling out a silver, monogrammed flask and thrusting it into Blair's hand. "Here, this might work better."

Blair handed it to her chaperone with a brief hesitation, but there was no pause on CeCe's part. She gratefully took the container, opened it and gulped down a quantity of the fiery liquid inside.

"Grandmother, are you feeling better?" Serena still sounded terrified.

"I am still not quite the thing, but I shall feel right as rain presently, I'm sure." She gave a grateful smile to Chuck. "Young man, that is excellent scotch." She took another draw before handing the flask back to its now grinning owner.

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, she'd been frightened that something was terribly wrong with her guardian. She was relieved that it only seemed to be the crowded, overheated ballroom and possibly an overly tightened corset. Blair always carried smelling salts for that very reason. "Fashion knows not of comfort," her mother liked to say and judging by the discomfort she often felt in her own restrictive undergarments, Blair had to agree.

The crowd dispersed and went back to dancing. Between them, they managed to get Mrs. Rhodes up and into a chair at the edge of the room, though she still appeared wobbly and Serena's worried look appeared unchanged. When Chuck volunteered his carriage to return the lady home, Blair half expected the normally plucky woman to refuse, but she surprised them all by agreeing.

Chuck called for his carriage and it wasn't long before a smart landau driven by an older gentleman pulled up to the doors. After getting Mrs. Rhodes settled in comfortably and arranging her skirts, a dilemma had become obvious: there would not be enough room for Serena, Blair and Chuck to ride with her.

"Miss van der Woodsen, why don't you ride with your grandmother? Miss Waldorf and I can take a hansom cab," Chuck offered.

The two women simply stared at him as if he'd grown two heads.

"We shall take an open vehicle. It will not be in the least improper," he reassured them. "Arthur," he gestured to his coachman, "will take excellent care of you and we shall follow right behind."

The ladies relaxed and agreed. Before long, they were on the road and Chuck and Blair were hailing a cab.

"This is not how I pictured my evening with you," Blair said with a sigh as Chuck helped her into the vehicle.

"Still, it gives us a chance to talk, and for this," he clasped her hand in his and drew it up to his lips for a brief kiss.

"Tell me about your day. How did things go with your uncle and your father?" Blair simply had to know.

"My father seems happy enough with how I've been handling things in his stead, though he has not yet heard my entire plan for the new club. Naturally, Jack despises the idea, though I suspect that is due to jealousy that he did not think of it first. It is just the sort of place that would appeal to him."

"Perhaps he will not be opposing you for much longer," Blair said cryptically.

"Blairrr!" She couldn't decide if his tone was praise or a warning.

"I shall say no more, but I have been preparing…."

"You are very mysterious this evening," he noted.

"I thought gentlemen preferred some degree of mystique in a lady?" Her tone was innocent; her little smile was not.

"I wouldn't know; I only know that I prefer you." As always, his voice and the look in his eyes stole her breath away.

All too soon, the carriage arrived at its destination. Blair reluctantly let her hand detach from Chuck's. "I shall miss you tonight," she confided. "I feel quite like Psyche, waiting for the sun to set and her Cupid to arrive."

They shared a smile.

"I promise to return to my goddess with all possible speed."

"Psyche wasn't born a goddess," she reminded him.

"No, but she became one all the same."

They understood each other very well.

* * *

Meetings. Endless meetings. Chuck felt like he spent all his time embroiled in them, when he wasn't avoiding Jack looking over his shoulder and his father trying to talk marriage/business merger with the Sparks. He was pleased that he had just cleared some time in his afternoon to go visit Blair when her message arrived.

There was some sort of family illness and they were on quarantine. He was not to come by the maison.

Like hell he wasn't! The note was unspecific, hastily penned, and it generated more questions than it answered. Was Blair well? Was Serena? Had Mrs. Rhodes collapsed again? He was going to find out for himself.

After a brief stop at the patisserie and the bookseller, he arrived on their doorstep and was installed in the library.

Within moments, Blair entered the room, careful to leave the door open behind her, as they were unchaperoned.

"Chuck, didn't you get my note? We are on quarantine."

He shrugged. "You look perfectly well to me." His glance swept down her form, from her perfectly coiffed head, over her smart afternoon dress, all the way down to the little boots on her feet.

She flushed under scrutiny. "Of course I am! As is Serena. It is her grandmother who is feverish and we are not to go out or entertain until we are certain she is better."

"That is a shame, as I come bearing presents…and a proposition."

"Presents?" That perked her right up.

"Of course. When I thought you might be ill, I decided to bring something to cheer you up." He extended the parcels in his hand to her.

She grabbed them without hesitation and excitedly tore into the first package. "Macarons! And from Laduree! My very favorite!" She paused to sample a bite from one of the prized pastries and to offer one to her donor.

She had no sooner licked the crumbs from her lips before she began inspecting the second package. It was tightly wrapped, a more dense weight than the first gift. What could it be?

"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland?" She looked at him at surprise. Whatever she had been expecting, a children's fantasy story was not it.

"I read it as a child," he explained. "And it was a favorite of mine." He grinned. "'Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!'"

"Curiouser and curiouser!" She quoted back. "It was a favorite of mine as well. This is a lovely edition." She ran her fingers over the lavishly illustrated tome.

"I believe you also said there was something else…?"

"Why, Miss Waldorf, are you being greedy?"

"Merely curious. And I always want what's mine." He adored both those qualities in her.

"My proposition is really more of a dare…" he hinted.

"Serena and I used to play a game called 'Truth or Dare' all the time when we were younger. I was rather good at the dares."

"Creating them or committing them?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Both! And that is the truth."

They both laughed. He lived for moments like this with her.

"So what is it to be, Bass? Dare me!"

"Later next week, perhaps Thursday evening…I would like you to come out with me."

"That hardly sounds challenging. Where shall we go? The opera? A restaurant?"

"I mean just us—you and me. You would have to steal away and meet me."

"Again, it would hardly be the first time." She blushed prettily.

"I am not talking about a few minutes at a ball or a stolen moment in the stable…I want you to come to the Moulin Rouge with me and see a burlesque."

"Oh," was all she could say. Well, that certainly was daring, was it not?

"I want to show you what my business plan is all about. Are you game?" He took her hand and gazed at her with those eyes.

Really, how was she supposed to deny him anything when he looked at her that way?

"It will not be easy." She was at least thinking it over then.

"It is no small feat to climb that latticed death trap under your window either," he muttered under his breath.

"Next Thursday, you say? What time?" She had made up her mind.

"Perhaps 11. Is that too late? Too early? I want you to see it at its height."

"It will work. I shall make it work. Has your father approved your plan yet?"

"Not yet," he said regretfully. "He seems preoccupied with the glorious business merger that my marrying Georgina would produce."

Blair merely smiled, in a look quite reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat in Alice's story.

Ah, yes, plans were indeed being made.

* * *

It was a torturous few days waiting for Mrs. Rhodes to return to good health, but at last the lady was back to her exuberant self and they were once again back in the social whirl.

Just in time for a ball given by the Prince of Wales.

The party was in full swing. The gems on the ladies and the champagne in crystal stemware glittered. Conversation flowed and dancing couples sailed across the packed ballroom floor.

"Such a crush! We are packed like sardines. Everyone is here tonight!" a French matron complained.

'Everyone but the one I am seeking,' Blair sighed. It was Chuck who had made her time in quarantine bearable, sending her treats, reading with her…and sneaking into her room late at night to kiss her senseless.

Tonight, she longed to dance with him again, to feel his arms around her as they glided across the floor, to tell him about her latest…and was it immodest to say greatest?...scheme.

But there was no Chuck.

Serena monitored Blair's increasing anxiety and impatience with equal parts amusement and concern.

Blair was unamused and quickly growing concerned. Surely, something hadn't befallen him to keep them apart again?

Suddenly, she spotted Bart Bass chatting up the Prince. She strove to hear what was being said, but the man spoke in hushed tones and the Prince just kept nodding and smiling. Finally, the conversation broke up and the Prince made an announcement to the throng, thanking them for attending his 'little soiree' and asking for their attention to Mr. Bass's news.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am so enjoying my time in your lovely city. It has sometimes been called the City of Love, and that is certainly true for my family." A large number of eyes in the crowd turned to Blair and Chuck, who had come to stand behind her. "I am so very pleased that a member of my family will soon be uniting with another fine family in marriage. A family from our own hometown, as it were. Please join me in congratulating the happy couple," Chuck's fingers stealthily found Blair's and gave them a little squeeze. "My brother, Mr. Jack Bass, and the lovely Miss Georgina Sparks." A few mouths dropped, but a wave of applause went through the whole crowd as the newly affianced pair was led up to stand beside Bart and the Prince.

"And that is not my only good news. I am pleased to say that Jack will be relocating to your fair city and heading up our Paris office. My son, Charles," Bart nodded in his direction, "who has done a splendid job representing our interests here in the last couple of months, will be returning to New York with me to take a more active role back at our headquarters. To positive changes!" Bart grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby tray and raised it, to thunderous cheers.

Blair was overcome with delight. This was exactly what Chuck had wanted! She beamed at him and took his hand in hers, disappointed that she could not fly into his arms as she wanted to. Chuck was rid of two very insidious birds with one stone and now his own path with the company was made clear. She was so proud of him she could burst. It was a triumph beyond her wildest dreams. But close on the heels of triumph came the realization that he would be leaving the City, leaving her. A crushing pain started in her chest and moved up her throat, strangling her and wiping the smile from her face. Oh dear God, what had she done?

"What did you do?" Chuck's awestruck whisper against her ear echoed the voice in her own head.

He was still smiling down at her, oblivious to her pain.

"I—I need to go home. I am not well." It was not a lie. She had never felt this sort of pain before and she needed to escape.

His smile turned serious. "Let me take you home."

"No, no! You stay here, enjoy your triumph," she gestured to the friends of his father, who were already now approaching to share their congratulations and welcome him into the fold. "I shall find Serena and we will take the Prince's carriage back."

"You haven't forgotten our outing tomorrow?" He was still frowning.

"Of course not. I shall meet you then. Goodnight."

* * *

The wait was excruciating.

Eager to see her, he arrived early the next evening and spent the next few minutes constantly consulting his gold pocket watch. The slow progress of the hour hand to 11 was almost unbearable.

Finally, the penultimate hour arrived. In the distance, he could hear various bells throughout the city chiming the hour.

And still…no Blair.

Where was she?

Had she changed her mind about going to the Moulin Rouge with him?

Was she still feeling ill?

Was she simply unable to slip away?

Was he going to have to climb that godforsaken trellis again to find out?

With the click of the front door, she was there in his arms.

He pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, drinking in the scent of her hair and the light French perfume she wore. His fingers gripped her upper arms through the voluminous black woolen cape, trying to further reassure himself that she was real and she was here with him now.

"I was afraid you were not coming," he confided.

"And miss a night of escape with the Lord of the Parisian Underworld? I would never!" She tucked her arm in his as they set off for his carriage, parked further down the avenue. "Besides," her light tone gave way to a more tense one, "whatever shall I do once you've returned home?"

Chuck frowned. He did not want to talk about that now. Not when there were so many other things to discuss.

His coachman was waiting by the carriage for them. It was a covered carriage, all black with red trim, red accent paint on the four wheels and brass lamps shining brightly on both sides of the driver's seat. Like its owner, the vehicle was well turned out and elegant.

"Arthur, you remember Miss Waldorf?"

"Of course," he extended a hand to help her on the carriage step. "How are you this evening, miss?"

Blair nodded and smiled her thanks as Chuck climbed in and sat in the seat facing her.

Blair looked at the richly appointed red satin upholstery. "This carriage is beautiful, and quite roomy. We might have all fit when you brought Serena's grandmother home."

"Perhaps," he allowed, "but I did not wish to crowd her so soon after her fainting spell…and I would not have been able to talk to you privately or hold your hand."

"You cannot hold my hand from over there," she pouted.

He moved over to sit with her and clasp her bare hand in his. "That would be both a tragedy and a waste," he agreed.

"Am I—am I dressed acceptably? I was not quite certain what one should wear to a burlesque."

"Let me see." He slipped the cape from her shoulders, revealing the black Worth gown she had worn to the opera, only tonight she wore no inset in the bodice and no gloves. The result was that more pale ivory satiny skin was revealed to contrast with the inky darkness of the dress. Her hair was piled high with some black and white ostrich feathers sticking out of the simple chignon. Delicate buckled slippers completed the ensemble and the look was topped off with some red lip salve conveniently "borrowed" from Mrs. Rhodes' vanity table.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "The only thing more beautiful than your face would be your beautiful mind. Tell me how you engineered Jack and Georgina into matrimony and me back to Manhattan."

"It was a simple case of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' You had two problems: Jack and Georgina. I simply decided to make them each other's problem instead."

"So I gathered, but how?"

"I sent a note to both your uncle and your 'intended' telling them you wanted to scout out a certain property for your new club and wanted to meet them there. A certain amount of forgery might have been needed, but luckily I had your note from last week to work from. Thanks ever so much."

"Happy to oblige. So they came, ostensibly, to meet me?"

"Yes, they each thought they were meeting you individually. Then they got there, where they found not you, but each other. I rather thought those two characters might find each other interesting."

"What made you think that?"

"His eyes lingered a little too long on her when they first met, in his case, and in hers, he is a man—that is all that is required."

"Oh-ho, the kitten has claws tonight!" he chided. "So it was 'love at first sight'?"

"Probably not, but definitely interest. That, and I arranged for them to be seen exiting a questionable club. Alone. Together. And the person who saw them was none other than Dame Beverly Camfield!"

He knew Dame Beverly. Practically everyone did. She was an English aristocrat of advanced age with a penchant for wearing bright pink and parading around everywhere with her two white miniature poodles. She was an inveterate gossip and could always be counted on to have the latest scoop on all the scandal that was brewing. There was no way she would have spotted Jack and Georgina together and not have spread it all over the city. Georgina was effectively compromised. Her reputation in tatters, marriage would be the only solution. And marriage to Jack ensured that Bart got his business merger with Mr. Sparks. And Chuck got his adversary removed and a promotion. Truly, everyone was a winner.

"How did you know Dame Beverly would be there?"

"She walks those poodles the same route every day. I merely chose a convenient venue and time." She might have smirked a little as she said it. "It was either marriage or disgrace—frankly I did not care which—so long as it removed them from your way. I figure your father brought some pressure and incentive to Jack to make the match."

"He must have, though Jack does not seem particularly upset about it and Father is quite delighted."

"Perhaps the bonds of matrimony will hold Georgie a bit longer than the Swiss finishing school did."

"As long as I am not the one she is bound to, I am all for it. You are brilliant!" He kissed her hand. "Here," he fumbled inside his coat and pulled out a box.

"What's this?"

"Plausible deniability." He opened the box to show an elaborate black and silver mask. "Put this on, and you will not be recognized." He held it up to her face and tied the ribbons securing it to her head.

"Won't I look absurd?"

The carriage pulled up to their destination. "Not at the Moulin Rouge. Anything goes." He put a black devil's mask on his own face and exited the landau.

Blair followed and was immediately dazzled by a strange and exciting new world.

The exterior of the building looked like the red mill it was named after, but the inside was a colorful kaleidoscope of music, lights and dancing. It might well have been called The Wild Mix instead.

Though the Moulin Rouge and its home in Montmartre were the darling of the artist community, the club was filled with a mix of people from all classes and walks of life, enjoying champagne and a succession of acts, some inspired by the circus.

Chuck led Blair through the captivating chaos, amused as he watched her try to take it all in.

"You know, His Highness the Prince came here a few years ago. It's said one of the more famous dancers recognized him and shouted from the stage, 'Hey, Wales, the champagne's on you!'"

Chuck nodded. "La Goulue. Yes, she did. I think you will like the dancing, though it's not what you are accustomed to. And speaking of champagne…," he signaled a waiter to bring them two glasses of the sparkling wine.

He raised his glass to her. "To you and me…to us…to…"

"To escape!" She raised the glass to her lips and downed most of it in a gulp.

They watched a variety of shows, with some conversation but a good deal of comfortable silence. Chuck knew Blair was absorbing everything and he didn't want to interfere with her taking it all in for the first time.

And then came the first strains of Offenbach's "Orpheus in the Underworld"…

A line of female dancers with gowns with tight, somewhat skimpy bodices and very full skirts formed a queue and began to move with the music. The dancers raised their skirts and swirled them about as they whirled around, faster and faster. Dancing slippers, stocking and petticoats were revealed as they spun.

Blair's eyes grew bigger and Chuck had to smile.

They broke line and formed two queues, light feet kicking behind and then in front, with one arm supporting the leg kicking in the air.

They reformed the line and then came more of the raised knee kicks, first the left and then right, before they whirled around and threw their skirts up over their derrieres, revealing their bloomers to the audience.

Blair gasped and looked at Chuck.

"It is called the Can-Can. I told you it is not the dance style to which you are accustomed."

Blair started on her second glass of champagne. "It looks great fun though." Her tone was wistful and Chuck noticed that one toe was tapping along with the music.

"Would you like to try it?" If temptation had a voice, it sounded remarkably like Chuck Bass.

She scoffed. "Don't talk foolish."

"Perhaps you don't think you can do it? They are rather fast dance steps."

"Oh, I could certainly do it…if I wanted to."

"Do you want to? Or do you dare not?"

"You do not believe I would? I always take the dare!" She drained her glass of champagne and stood up.

If her head hadn't been swimming from the bubbly beverage and all the new sights and sounds, as well as the magic of being out with Chuck, she wouldn't have budged, but her feet seemed to have a mind of their own…

And they had taken it in their mind to dance.

She found herself on stage. The girls pulled her into their line without missing a step and before she knew, she was raising her skirts and swishing them right along with the music. They thought it great fun to see the grand lady, as anyone could see she was, try her hand at their livelihood.

She was good, Chuck thought in amazement. She watched the other girls carefully and moved with them, learning as she went. The crowd went wild with applause and he raised his glass in her honor.

She grew more comfortable as the song went on, her steps becoming faster, her kicks higher. Her hair slipped free of its pins, whirling around her shoulders as she spun. By the time the long line had formed, she was high-kicking with the best of them, a wide smile on her face.

A smile that was just for him, her eyes never leaving his face, until the finale, which allowed him a peek at that inviting bottom of hers.

He was absolutely under her spell and he never wanted to be free again.

His arms were open wide when she exited the stage and he took her hands in his and kissed them.

She was flushed with triumph as they left the club and got back into the carriage. She sank into the Duchess satin cushions, breathless from the dance, and her hands went to her head as she realized her hair had fallen down. "I've lost my feathers!"

He climbed in behind her. "You were…amazing up there." He pushed a curly lock off her shoulder and planted a tender kiss there, before tugging at the satin ribbon that held her mask in place.

The mask fell away, allowing him to return to studying her face.

"Blair, what have you done to me?" he sounded genuinely perplexed as he removed his own mask. "Since I met you, I feel like Alice after going down the rabbit hole. It's a strange new world—a fantastical world—and I am just trying to understand and navigate it."

"The feeling is entirely mutual." She leaned her face into his for a kiss.

"I mean, you never cease to amaze me." He felt he had to make her understand. "The dance tonight…the scheme…."

"Don't you know? The Queen always protects her King." She cupped his face in her hands and her eyes connected with his. "Of course, that will be more difficult when we are on opposite sides of the ocean." Her voice broke a little on that, and tears welled up in her eyes. Oh, this would not do! He could not know what kept her awake last night sobbing, what kept her awake half the night ever since the night they met.

"That is what I want you to be: my Queen. Always." He took both her hands in his again. "I will never leave you, Blair. 'When one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment.'"

He slid to his knees on the carriage floor, hands still wrapped around hers, ready to beg for what he swore he would never willingly ask anyone. "Blair Cornelia Waldorf, will you marry me?"

She gasped, though it was hard to say which of them was more surprised by his proposal.

He brushed his fingers over her lips. "Please don't say no. I know my family name is not listed on some social register from centuries past. I know there are people who will think us mad. But…marry me, come home with me. I just need three little letters from you to make me the happiest man alive."

She knew what she had to do, what she had to say.

She opened her mouth…and her heart came out.

"How about three words instead? I love you. I love you, Chuck Bass, and I want to be your family."

"Is that a 'yes'?" Despite the warmth that was flooding through him right now at her words, he had to know for certain.

"Yes…," She kissed him once… "Yes…." She kissed him again. "Oh, please, yes!" And then he was beside her once more and they were wrapped in each other's arms and he proceeded to kiss every part of her within reach.

"You are sure? You will not change your mind? You are mine now?"

"Forever," she agreed.

God, it was the most beautiful word.

She was totally swept away by his lips on hers, on her cheek, down her neck, exploring every silky inch of her. Her eyelids squeezed tight, lost in the pleasure he always knew how to inspire within her.

But tonight it was so much more than that. It felt different somehow…sacred…special…now that they knew they belonged to each other and always would. It lent poignancy to their passion.

She was in his lap, it seemed only natural for his arms to be holding her tight and then gliding over her curves and drawing her closer.

Clothing was an impediment to be swept aside in their quest to feel skin on skin.

His fingers traced patterns over her body, teasing the rosy tips of her breasts into tight points and lovingly stroking the lush fullness of her derriere.

"You realize that you showed your bloomers to half of Paris tonight?" he teased.

"Maybe, but I saw only you," she whispered before returning her lips to his.

"Just remember that I am the only who gets to see you without them." He slid the garment in question down her legs, glorying in the feel of her.

The chill of the evening air hitting her newly exposed skin caused her to shiver, and it was then that Chuck seemed to realize where they were and what they were doing.

"Blair," he groaned, "we are in a carriage on a public street. We cannot do this."

Blair groaned too, only it came out as more of a breathy moan. "Chuck, I am going to be your wife. How can it be wrong if we…make love? I don't want to wait. I want you now."

She had taken over his whole body. His mind, his heart, his cock…were all screaming for more of her. Only the knowledge that this was her first time and he wanted to spare her any discomfort held him back.

She kissed him again…and he was lost.

"Are you sure?" He couldn't stop the words from springing to his lips.

But she covered those lips with her own and silenced him with a kiss. It proved to be the very best way to get the last word with Chuck Bass.

And then they were completely caught up in each other.

It suddenly occurred to Chuck that tonight he was the virgin. Oh, sex was something he knew and understood quite well. He knew all about intercourse, but absolutely nothing about intimacy. No one had ever before told him that she loved him, that she wanted him, that she was his. He'd never before made love.

And he was terrified.

But something in her, in them, kept urging him on. He promised himself that he would be gentle, that she would feel well loved—in all senses of the word.

He continued to explore her body, caressing her, his fingers gliding to that divine place where her legs met and sampling the delights he found there. Like the brush strokes of a master artist, each tender touch only added intensity, created feeling, produced beauty.

The symphony of little sounds she was making reached a crescendo as the bliss overtook her and he used his mouth to muffle her cries, still touching her and whispering endearments against her lips.

He wanted so much to be inside her that it was almost a physical pain.

Physically, she was ready. His fingers, still warm and wet from her body, told him that. But emotionally?

Was she ready?

Was he?

He paused.

"Chuuuck." It came out as a query, a plea, a declaration, a reassurance, and above all, an invitation that was impossible to deny or resist. She sank deeper into the rich satin cushions of the carriage bench, her thighs spreading wider, like a newly hatched butterfly testing its wings, impatient to fly.

Her fingers, equally impatient, were on him, freeing him from his clothing and encasing him in the warmth of her eager hand.

It was time.

He drew an unsteady breath and replaced her hands with his, guiding his hardness to her warm, welcoming center, and slowly, as gently as he could, entering her body.

It hurt. She'd known it might, had heard whispered conversations about how one never enjoyed one's first time. Despite her best intentions not to, she winced and bit her lip.

He stopped, giving her a moment to adjust to the feeling of his body in hers. But he would be lying if he said he didn't need that time as well, because the feeling of their bodies joined was like heaven and home at the same time and it almost overwhelmed him.

He touched her face, willing her to look at him, to know that he would make this good for her. Her eyes opened, focusing on him completely, and he was almost undone by the emotions swirling in them. Vincent van Gogh might be able to depict the beauty and ever changing wonder of the night skies, but Chuck doubted even he could do justice to those dark eyes.

Their eyes remain locked on each other's as he began to move, oh so slowly at first with shallow movements, then with deeper strokes as she began to relax and move with him.

The confines of the carriage made their movements a bit awkward, but being joined in such an intimate way only felt natural and right. They had been made for this, born for this, and they had known from the first time they set eyes on each other at that ball.

Lips entangled, fingers entwined, their bodies continued to dance, building in intensity until the bliss overcame her once more. This time, wrapped in his arms, with his body buried deeply in hers, the sensation was even more vivid. Every part of her gloried in him and she could not stop the raptured cry that was torn from her lips.

It was answered by a similar sound from him, as he found his release and her body accepted his essence. It was more than a physical response, it was a revelation, a confirmation.

They collapsed upon one another, panting for breath and reeling in awe.

What was this strange lightness, this closeness he was feeling? Blair loved him. She was going to be his wife. His future plans were coming together. His world had changed. And he was so grateful, so stunned by that. He couldn't find a way to articulate what that meant to him, so he busied himself with pulling her onto his lap once more and just holding her.

She was quiet and it took a couple of moments for him to silence the chaotic thoughts in his head and realize that.

What did this mean? Was she…unhappy? Regretful? God, no, please not that.

"Darling?" He tilted her chin up to look into her eyes, now misty with tears.

"I am just so…so happy!" Finally, he could relax and breathe. And he had a name for what he was feeling.

For the first time he could remember, he was happy too.

* * *

Eventually, afterglow gave way to practical considerations as the pair came back to earth and dedicated themselves to freshening up, straightening their garments and preparing to say goodnight. If it had been difficult before, it would surely be nigh impossible tonight. He wanted nothing more than to take her back to his hotel, make love to her again and then hold her as she slept. He reminded himself that once they were married, he had forever to spend every single night that way.

Forever had never sounded so good.

When the carriage stopped on the block where the maison stood, Arthur could not entirely hide his look of disapproval concerning his employer's behavior. Really, what had Mister Charles been thinking? Miss Waldorf was a lady, and gentlemen did not take ladies to dancing clubs or do naughty things to them with in carriages. Had he lost his mind? He rather looked like he had, grinning like an idiot as the lady in question stepped down and he slipped his arm around her.

Chuck caught his look of consternation. "Arthur, you may be the first to congratulate us," he beamed and kissed the lady's hand. "Miss Waldorf has agreed to become my wife."

Arthur's look turned to shock, then elation. Mister Charles HAD lost his mind…and clearly his heart. A feeling that was obviously reciprocated by the young lady, who was beaming right back at him.

"Sir! Miss! My sincere felicitations. I wish you a very happy and long life together," he pronounced warmly.

"Forever," Mister Charles was looking at her when he said it.

"Forever," she agreed with a nod.

Arthur tried to take it all in, as Chuck walked Blair to the front door. What a night it had proven to be!

* * *

Chuck was up early the next day. His mind was too full of plans that needed to be made, things that had to be done before he could marry Blair.

His first stop was Cartier.

As Bart Bass had been a regular customer over the years, Chuck was pleased to find he was given the royal treatment and all available employees scurried to help him find the perfect ring.

He looked over their considerable selection of rings—all lovely, of course—before deciding to select a stone and have a ring designed especially for Blair. She was one of a kind; her ring ought to be also.

Satisfied with his choice and the news it would be ready in one week, he set off for the maison. Bart's approval had finalized all the business Chuck had come to Bass Paris to transact, so Chuck found himself blessedly free. He would pay a morning call on Blair, then go inform his father of their news in the afternoon.

He found Blair in the library taking morning tea and eating a croissant. Again, fortune had favored him in that she was alone, Serena and her grandmother having gone shopping and leaving Blair to sleep in.

Her face lit up when he came in, and she rose to welcome him.

He started to leave the library door open, but she dismissed that. "You may close it. It is daytime and we are, after all, engaged now."

He joined her on the settee, excited to be able to finally share and discuss with her all his plans for their marriage and return to New York.

"—and we can build a home wherever you would like. Maybe something near Central Park…?" he suggested.

"Oh, that would be lovely, especially when we have children. They can go and feed the ducks…." She paused and blushed. Was it too soon to be discussing a family?

A family? He'd not thought much about that before, especially last night. It was reckless and unlike him, but it didn't matter. He wanted to marry her as soon as possible. He wanted a family with her, a new generation that would have a happy, idyllic childhood, unlike his own. He would welcome their children whenever they arrived.

Soon, the enthusiastic conversation turned into holding hands, then a kiss…and another…and another…and then she was in his lap again.

So engrossed were they in their living dream that neither heard the voices and the footsteps in the front hall.

Or the turning of the doorknob to the library.

Or the shocked gasp when the new arrival surveyed the scene on the settee.

But no one could tune out the imperious voice that rang out through the room:

"Young man, unhand my daughter this instant!"

TBC in Chapter 6

* * *

This Week on "Fic Police Blotter":

Our favorite local officer brings in the usual suspect for questioning.

Officer: Ma'am, we have to stop meeting like this. Do you know why we called you down here today?

Me: You missed my biting wit and vibrant personality?

Officer: I'm referring to Lewis Carroll and Plato, ma'am. Someone's been caught with their hand in the quotey jar again.

Me: I am innocent! I admit I totally ripped off "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"—and I'm gonna do it again too! But you can't get me on the Plato.

Officer: Why is that, ma'am? Did you or did you not use lines from his "Symposium" before our hero proposed?

[a knock is heard at the door]

2nd Officer: Ms. Scarlett2u's lawyer, Mr. Harvey Specter, is here to represent her.

Harvey: There's a redhead in trouble. That's my specialty. Ms. Scarlett2u cannot be held liable because she was not quoting Plato directly. She was quoting Ed Westwick, who was quoting Plato. There's a whole chain of quotation here. If we apply the doctrine of "He's Chuck Bass" to this case, then Ed Westwick cannot be guilty, ergo this writer cannot be guilty. I rest my case. Good day to you. [mutters under his breath, "Take that, Litt!"]

Me: He's a spectacular lawyer, but his personal life is a mess.

Officer: Let's stick to the matter at hand, ma'am. Do you have anything else to share with us?

Me: Yes, Dame Beverly Camfield is based on legendary romance author Barbara Cartland, who was the mother of Princess Diana's stepmother, Raine, Countess Spencer. Barbara was a real Dame and lived at Camfield Place. She was born in 1901 and lived to the age of 98. I'm sure she would've loved turn-of-the-century Paris.

Officer: That can-can dance—is that a real thing?

Me: Oh, yes! Though it was originally started by courtesans, the dance became a cultural classic in France. Just YouTube it if you don't believe me. I highly recommend listening to Offenbach's "Orpheus in the Underworld" too—it's a magnificent piece of music. I played it over and over while I was writing the dance scene.

Thank you to my beta team: SnowedUnderNJ, Chrys1130, rayj829 and the gracious Chairship. Also to my special quotation consultant ChuckBlair08lover.

Thank you, Paris in the 1920s, for starting and keeping the lovely tradition of Limoversary.

And of course, thank you, readers, for sharing my love of history and our OTP. I appreciate your continued support and kind reviews—you will never know how they make my day.

Until next time, vive l'amour!


	6. Chapter 6

In the last chapter: Chuck and Blair shared an adventurous night at the Moulin Rouge that got even more adventurous on their way home. The next morning, Chuck paid a visit to Cartier and then to Blair, where the newly engaged couple was enjoying a visit…and each other…when this happened…

* * *

"Young man, unhand my daughter this instant!" It was a voice and tone that would brook no argument.

The pair entwined on the settee broke apart as if they'd been thunderstruck. Blair's fingers released their hold on Chuck's hair as he pulled her off his lap and they both rose to their feet, hands nervously smoothing garments back into place.

"M—Mother! I was not expecting you this morning," Blair stammered in her bewilderment.

"So I see." Eleanor's tone was dry and unamused.

"It is perfectly all right, Mother. This is my fiancé, Ch-."

"Oh, I know exactly who he is, but he is most certainly not your future groom. That gentleman is on his way here now, which you would know if you read your correspondence."

Blair let out a shocked gasp.

"I rather suspect you have been too…preoccupied with…other matters," she looked pointedly at Chuck.

"I—I-," Blair struggled to find some way to explain herself.

Chuck took advantage of the lull in conversation to extend his hand to Blair's mother. "Mrs. Waldorf, it is my very great honor and privilege to make your acquaintance. I am Charles Bass, and while our meeting this morning is unexpected, it has not been unanticipated. I have been greatly looking forward to meeting your daughter's family, and may I say it is clear to see where she gets her beauty and strength." He gave her his most charming smile.

Few could resist Chuck Bass at his most ingratiating, but Eleanor counted among that number. She ignored his outstretched hand and frowned back at him.

"Yes, Mr. Bass, as I said before, I am quite aware of who you are, and also who you are not, and that is my daughter's fiancé."

Chuck's hand fell to his side. After a lifetime of having been courted and feted and made much of, it was rather startling to encounter someone who did not know him or care to. In the face of his receiving the cut direct, he decided to go for the direct approach himself.

"Mrs. Waldorf, I apologize that our engagement has unfolded in a rather haphazard fashion. I can assure you, however, that I have every intention of being a good husband to your daughter. My family has achieved a good measure of success with our enterprizes, here in Paris, as well as in London and back home in New York. Your daughter will want for nothing. She will be well provided for and prized." He smiled at Blair lovingly, who returned the gesture and took her hand in his, allowing his thumb to trace comforting circles in her palm in soothing reassurance.

Eleanor was neither soothed nor reassured. "Young man, I am not interested in your father's bank balance," she gave a mocking laugh. "In fact, you have nothing of interest to us. Please go."

Blair clutched Chuck's hand even tighter. "Mother, no! You cannot do this," her voice grew louder and stronger with each word. "I love him and I am going to marry him."

"WHAT?!" Serena fairly shrieked from the foyer, where she, her grandmother and Dorota had just entered after their shopping expedition.

"You!" Eleanor fixed her attention on the newly arrived CeCe. "How could you let this happen? I trusted you with chaperoning my daughter and this is what happens?!"

CeCe looked very shocked. "Truly, Eleanor, I had no idea. I thought there was no harm in a few dances and visits and drives."

"Well, clearly there was, as she now fancies herself in love with him and they consider themselves betrothed," Eleanor's tone suggested this was a most undesirable state of affairs.

"When did this happen?" Serena looked at Chuck and Blair's joined hands.

"Last night." Blair was basking in her news, despite the looks of shock on Serena and Cece's faces and the blatant fury on her mother's. The only friendly face in the crowd was Dorota, who enjoyed seeing her charge happy and carefree in a way she had not been since Mister—well, in a way she had perhaps never been.

"Perhaps I should go…," Chuck offered. He needed to make a strategic retreat, regroup and find another way to secure Mrs. Waldorf's blessing.

"Yes!" Eleanor was quick to agree.

"No!" Blair was equally quick and equally adamant. She clung to Chuck's hand.

He squeezed her fingers briefly, whispering, "It is for the best right now." He gently let go and moved toward the door.

He hadn't even made it to his coach at the curb when Blair caught up with him. "Chuck, please don't go. We shall sort this out. We are going to be together. Forever." The tears in her eyes and the sincerity of her vow tore at his heart.

He kissed the third finger on her left hand. "Alice said, 'How long is forever?' and White Rabbit replied, 'Sometimes, just one second'."

"I refuse to believe that. I shall change her mind." Blair sounded no less determined.

"That will be a formidable task indeed," Chuck sighed.

"Then, like Psyche, I will submit to Aphrodite's tasks and win my husband. If I have to go to hell and back, it will be worth it. Please say you have faith in me, in us."

"Always." He placed a quick kiss on her lips. "If two people are meant to be together, they will find a way."

* * *

"Mrs. Eleanor, Mr. Bass is here in parlor to see you." Dorota imparted this news and waited to see how her employer would react.

An irritated look crossed Eleanor's face. So soon? Really, she had just gotten rid of him this very morning. Did he not understand what the cut direct meant? Society was clearly breaking down if its more undesirable members did not follow its rules. One snubbed the undesirable and he slunk back under the rock from whence he had come.

Unless…he was actually here to see Blair? She could not decide which act required more effrontery. "Are you certain he is not here for my daughter?"

"No, Mrs. Eleanor. He not say "Miss Waldorf" or "Miss Blair"; he specifically say "Mrs. Waldorf."

Should she be relieved or exasperated? Luckily, she had sent Blair out to be fitted for a new gown. There was no doubt her daughter would be affianced soon—and a real engagement this time, not some starry-eyed connection to some newly moneyed nobody—and as such, she needed to look her best.

In truth, the errand had a dual purpose and Eleanor was happy just to get her emotional offspring out of the house. When Blair had come back into the maison this morning, she'd been furious, railing that her mother had been too hasty and that she was indeed going to marry her 'Chuck.'

Oh, dear Lord.

Blair had continued to argue and say her piece until, in desperation, Eleanor told her she was looking a bit plump and that her posture was off. She'd begun to scold Dorota for overfeeding her daughter, until said daughter broke down in tears and took refuge in her room. Blair had cried herself to sleep, and after a long nap, found herself being sent off to the dressmaker's shops.

What had happened to her normally biddable daughter? Blair's success in European society had come about because she listened to the guidance of her elders—well, maybe not so much Mrs. Rhodes. Eleanor was beginning to see why Celia's own daughter was such a troublemaker. Celia was clearly blind to all kinds of warning signs…and Eleanor suspected she was a mite too fond of her gin. Or perhaps Celia felt that pushing Mr. Bass at Blair would clear the way to better matrimonial prospects for her own granddaughter….

But that was not going to happen. Eleanor was going to nip this thing in the bud right now, for everyone's own good. Mr. Bass should not be so difficult to deal with. A little bit more of being put in his place and he would soon remember that he belonged in dance halls with women of questionable virtue, not in her parlor ruining her daughter's future.

She handed his calling card back to Dorota. "Tell him I am not at home."

The instructions were simple, clear and to the point, so Eleanor was quite surprised when Dorota returned a few minutes later with an impressive bouquet of dark purple irises. The card simply read, "I look forward to meeting you again soon, CB."

Eleanor snorted. Not if she had anything to say about it! "Dorota, take these to the scullery. I do not wish to look at them."

And so it began. The courtship of Blair Waldorf's mother.

If Chuck had thought himself in new territory wooing the daughter, it was nothing compared with the challenge of currying favor with the mother.

That night, Chuck waited until he was certain most of the household was in bed, but Blair's curtains were still open and her lamp was still lit. He desperately needed to see her, to talk with her, to develop a plan….

But the beacon of hope that was her open window was promptly slammed shut, literally and metaphorically. Eleanor's severe face appeared at the window, seeming to scan the street for signs of life. Chuck took a deep breath and stepped back into to the shadows of a large tree on the boulevard. When he dared to step out again, the window and its curtain were closed and the lamp was extinguished.

So much for his partner in crime…

He was on his own.

He decided to go for persistence, calling at the maison the following afternoon.

Again, Mrs. Waldorf was 'not at home.' He sent a gigantic basket of assorted fruits instead. Eleanor chucked the contents out the window and threw the basket into the fire, much to the chagrin of Serena, who was uncommonly fond of pears, and Mrs. Rhodes, who had thought the oranges would make lovely mimosas. The overbearing presence of Eleanor had made everyone in the household feel they could use a drink.

On the third day, Chuck upped the ante by bringing the Prince of Wales with him to call, knowing that playing the royal card was a winning hand. And it was, in a way. Yes, he gained admittance, but Mrs. Waldorf's reception was chilly at best and Chuck was forced to watch Blair from a distance, as others—including that insufferable Prince of Monaco—gravitated around her.

It would not do. He absolutely had to speak to her…somehow.

* * *

And so the courtship turned more into an elaborate chess game. Chuck would make a move and Eleanor would counter.

At the English Ambassador's ball, Chuck felt certain he'd be able to get a few minutes alone with Blair, even if it were just on the dance floor.

But Eleanor was a wily opponent, and every single time she saw him approaching she handed off Blair to the nearest suitable male for dancing. He had no luck before, during or after supper.

Eleanor continued to glare in his general direction, no matter where he went. Serena gazed at him pensively, as if she were trying to figure out his motives. Silly girl. He had only one: Blair, who looked as dismayed as he did whenever their eyes were able to meet. Grandmama Celia, on the other hand, gave him glances that led him to believe that she was sympathetic to his cause. Perhaps he and Blair appealed to her sense of romance or maybe she just wanted Blair's beau, whoever that absent fool might be, available for her own grandchild. Either way, Chuck filed that piece of knowledge away, prepared to use it if nothing else panned out that evening.

Finally, Chuck saw an opportunity when the Prince of Wales led Eleanor out on the floor at the other end of the ballroom. Chuck made a beeline for Blair, cutting in and, in effect, stealing her away from a very disappointed young member of the diplomatic corp.

"Chuck!" She smiled at him and all was right in his world once more. He was careful not to hold her too tightly, but he was so relieved to be near her again that he wanted nothing more than to pick her up and spirit her out of the ballroom and prevent their ever being separated again.

"I missed you…so much," she whispered in his ear.

"I have been going crazy without you. Your mother is a very formidable foe."

She nodded in agreement. "It has been a battlefield at the house. She is most insistent that I meet her choice and listen to his proposal."

A worried look crossed Chuck's face.

"I shall thank him and explain I cannot be his bride. How could I be?" Those dark eyes were shining directly into his. "You are the one I want to marry, and you are already my betrothed. I know he will understand."

Chuck looked dubious at that. There was no way he could ever take the knowledge that Blair wanted to wed someone else with calm acceptance. No way in hell.

"Listen," he interrupted, "any moment now, the music will end and your mother will come storming over here to free you from my evil clutches. Before she does, I want to make certain you get this…" He stealthily slipped a small, folded piece of paper into the top of her elbow length glove.

"Ah, if she only knew how very much I enjoyed being in your arms…the other night…in your carriage…and how very much I wish we were there again right now."

Oh, God. He really was going to scoop her into his arms, carry her upstairs and make her his again. And he didn't care if the whole damned ballroom knew it.

"I did not know if I would be able to speak with you tonight," she confided, "so I wrote you a note as well." Her fingers went into her reticule, drawing out the tiny missive and enclosing it in her palm. Then with as much speed as stealth would allow, she slipped it into his pants pocket, her fingers brushing over him in her quest.

Even through layers of clothing, his body responded to her touch. Was she teasing him? His eyes darkened as they searched hers, only to find a look of desire that mirrored his own.

So lost were they in each other that the rest of the world fell away, and sure enough, the music ended and Eleanor was there immediately, leading Blair away.

Society observed this exchange with great interest. Moonstruck though he was, clearly young Bass had not found favor with the girl's mother. A substantial percentage of the audience was disappointed. Wagers were riding on this. Before tonight, Bass was the clear favorite to win the lady's heart and hand; now bets in favor of marriage to a higher title (some were even betting on that dark horse, the Prince of Monaco) were gaining ground.

Chuck was oblivious to all the stares and talk. He was instead focused on that tiny piece of paper now burning a hole in his pocket. As soon as it was possible, he slipped away to read Blair's note. He should wait until he was in the privacy of his own office to do so, he knew it, but he could not overcome his curiosity and sense of urgency to see what she had written.

He was almost nervous, standing there with the bit of paper in his hand. He could only hope it contained a plan. He reminded himself that Blair had rid herself of Georgie (twice!), dispatched his uncle, secured his promotion and reacquired the Prince's letters. Could parental disapproval of their match be such a thing for her to overcome?

He forced out a breath and began to read…

"My dearest C," it began.

It was not a plan…but it was a plan to meet and make one. The note went on to explain that she would be at a masquerade ball in two days' time dressed as Marie Antoinette in a silver mask. There, they would meet and together they would be invincible. Nothing would keep them apart.

It was signed, "3 words, 8 letters, B."

His lips curved into a smile.

* * *

Perhaps he'd been born at the wrong point in history, Chuck Bass considered. Eighteenth century fashion suited him even better than that of his native late nineteenth.

A white, snowy linen shirt and cascading cravat contrasted with the purple patterned silk of his cutaway coat and waistcoat. It was regal and a bit flashy, not the sort of thing just any man could wear…but then again, he was Chuck Bass. A pair of tightly fitted grey breeches fastened below the knee and gave way to silk hose and rather ornate buckled shoes.

The powdered wig tied back with an aubergine ribbon made his eyes and brows seem darker by comparison, a contrast only heightened by the same black mask he'd donned for their evening out at the Moulin Rouge.

He spared himself a glance as he passed a wall of pier glass mirrors, but only a glance. He was a man on a mission. He was here to find his Blair.

The theme of the ball was "An Historical Masquerade," in which the attendees were directed to dress as real or allegorical personalities from the last century before or earlier. Royalty seemed a popular choice, perhaps giving the audience a clue as to how some of the guests perceived themselves. There was everything from Julius Caesar to King Arthur. Ironically choosing power over privilege, the Prince of Wales was dressed as a Crusader and seemed to be enjoying himself and his new "role" immensely.

Which was more than could be said for some of the guests. It was rumored that 700 guests had been invited and many had chosen costumes so elaborate and heavy that their movements were curtailed and they were unable to dance. Being beautiful had its price. Nonetheless, the dance floor was packed to bursting as Chuck navigated his way through the masses in his quest.

He knew from Blair's note that she would dress as Marie Antoinette in a silver mask, but while Chuck crossed paths with a Joan of Arc (complete with chain mail armor), a Cleopatra, an Empress Theodora and all number of fabled females from history, alas, he could not locate the doomed French queen.

Finally, at a distance, he saw the unmistakable glint of silver against the startling white of a powdered wig. Success!

And then she turned around.

Yes, the lady might be in late Eighteenth Century garb and wearing the requisite style of mask, but it was most certainly not Blair. She was too tall, her build was different and she lacked the cupid's bow lips, the mesmerizing dark eyes, and that indefinable something that had captured him from their first meeting.

It was Serena. He sighed.

But if Serena were here, Blair could not be far behind. He was close, so close.

He decided to leave the main ballroom and try one of the large halls that branched off it. And suddenly she was there. He could feel her, almost like an animal sensing its mate. It was something beyond sight, smell, touch, taste and sound. It was a call that only she could answer.

She looked over at him at almost the same time. Did she feel it too?

She stopped walking and waited for him to join her side.

"You look ravishing tonight." It was true. If the previous century suited Chuck, it also complemented Blair. An overdress of lavender painted silk covered a darker purple stomacher inset and spread out into wide skirts. It was rather a pity, he thought, that the curve of her hip was effectively hidden by the enormous panniers and he found himself missing those trousers she'd worn on their first nighttime adventure. Still, the upswept wig showed off her graceful neck to advantage, and the daring neckline showed an expanse of ivory skin just begging to be worshipped. It was low enough to reveal the top swell of her bosom, including that saucy little mole on her left breast that entranced him. Part of her face was obscured by an elaborate gold filigree mask, but this was his Blair. He would know her anywhere.

"Casanova!" She looked him over with approval. Of course she knew immediately who he was supposed to be. "You found me." She seemed surprised by that. "I have been searching for you. Serena planned to go as Lady Guinevere, but the jeweled girdle on her costume broke as she was dressing tonight. She had to wear my extra gown and wig."

Ah, that explained the twin look. Under normal circumstances, he doubted his princess would want to share.

"We ended up switching masks as well, so I was not certain you could find me."

They slipped into an abandoned anteroom filled with furniture that had been temporarily relocated from the ballroom.

"I will always find you," his voice was low against her ear and she shivered. "And I do not need clues to do that."

"Or to ravish me, I am sure," she laughed like the coquette she was dressed to be.

"Don't tease," he begged. "You have no idea how much I would like to do that right now."

She stepped even closer to him and ran her fingers down the lapels of his waistcoat and over the tight, now uncomfortably so, breeches, allowing her fingers to linger and explore.

They both took a sharp intake of breath.

"After the other night, in the carriage, you are all I can think about. I crave you. Constantly."

"As I do you," she whispered before tilting her lips to his for a kiss.

"I miss being in your bed, even when we were only reading _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ aloud to each other."

She gave him a wicked smile. "I seem to recall other things we did as well."

His lips trailed kisses across her face, behind her ear, down her neck.

Her pulse was pounding so hard. Surely he knew how much she wanted him, how much she loved him…

His lips had now reached her décolletage, gloriously on display in her costume. "God, I love this mole. I swear it seduces me, tempts me…."

He made good on his promise, lavishing it with little kisses.

If he could have seen her face just then, he would have been surprised by the shadow of sadness that passed over it. "My mother hates it," she confides. "I have others as well. She says they mar my skin."

He stopped for a moment to kiss her lips. "They are beauty marks. Someone as beautiful as yourself should have them. Some say they are marks where the devil has kissed a woman. If so, I'd like to follow his stellar example and kiss every single one…even if it takes me all night long."

She sighed and melted back into his arms. "So long as you don't find me too spotty," she hesitated a moment, "Or too plump?"

He stopped then and looked at her intently. Where had she gotten these crazy ideas? What had happened to his carefree, confident girl? Had one week with her mother been enough to do this to her?

He ran his hands over her waist, around her back, drawing her closer. "I find you perfect, every inch of you. I shall challenge anyone who says otherwise."

"Even my mother?" she inquired with a quirked brow.

"Especially your mother. Speaking of, have you made any progress in changing her feelings towards me?"

Blair shook her head regretfully. "She is remarkably stubborn."

"'The sweetest pleasures are those which are the hardest to be won'."

"Giacomo Casanova's _The Story of My Life_."

"I did not think he was on the reading list for young ladies of your station," Chuck pointed out.

"Perhaps not, but there was a copy of the book in my father's library. I was curious," she admitted.

And just when he thought his admiration for her could not grow any more, it always did. She was a marvel.

He kissed her breathless, trying to show her with his mouth how very amazing he thought she was.

Along with the bliss coursing through her veins came relief, relief that they were finally together where they belonged. They could not be separated again, she couldn't bear it.

There was a rustling at the door, causing Chuck and Blair to pause and look at each other in panic. Frantically, they looked around for a hiding place. Finally, in desperation, Chuck dove under Blair's voluminous skirts.

He was right: he had been born in the wrong century. The wide, crinolined skirts provided the perfect haven as he admired her legs and tried to follow the conversation outside.

"Blair, dear, why are you in here?" It was Mrs. Rhodes.

"The ballroom was so very overheated," she fanned herself as the motions of her hand caused the skirts to swing a bit. He held his breath. "I needed to escape the crowd for a little while."

A good answer. He started to relax.

"I understand," Mrs. Rhodes commiserated, "but surely you know it's a quarter 'til midnight and your mother will be looking for you soon. The Prince has kept her busy meeting some ladies who are interested in her fabrics, but I am sure you do not want her to think you were trying to escape her…to meet someone perhaps?" There was a warning tone in the older woman's voice.

Ah, Grandmama knew, Chuck decided. She knew and not only did she not care, she was acting as lookout for them. Bless her! He was going to send her a bottle of his very best scotch in gratitude.

Blair gave a slight gasp of surprise. Had anyone else seen them enter the anteroom? For a second, her mind froze, then the thought came to her: What if anyone had seen them? Yes, she would be compromised and it could lead to a scandal….but…it also meant her mother would have to accept their engagement and they could be married right away.

She suddenly felt much better. It didn't hurt that Chuck's fingers were gently massaging her legs through her silk stockings, tracing slow patterns from her ankles to her calves and actually sliding under her pantalets. When his warm fingers made first contact with her bare skin, she gasped again, covering it with a little cough.

This was dangerous, he knew it. Dangerous, bordering on foolhardy…but he'd been kept away from her for so long. Casanova had said, "Be the flame, not the moth." But legendary lover though he might have been, Casanova surely never encountered a flame as irresistible as Blair. The light, the heat of her consumed him. Doomed or not, Chuck felt like there was a flock of moths inside him, fluttering, and he didn't want to stop. He just needed to be closer to her heat….

His fingers slid ever closer…

Until he encountered the warm wetness that felt like coming home. She was burning his fingers, burning his very soul…

She broke down in a paroxysm of coughs.

"Blair, are you feeling well?" Mrs. Rhodes sounded a bit alarmed.

"Quite well. Perfect, in fact. I promise I shall be back to the ball in a moment and find Mother. Thank you for your concern." Blair seemed remarkably composed for a woman who had a very amorous Chuck Bass beneath her skirts.

"My pleasure, dear."

Oh, no, the pleasure was all Chuck's. He sighed in relief when he heard her footsteps moving away.

Reluctantly, he slid free from his lace and linen hideaway and stood up.

She was giving him a little grin, a secret smile.

He brought his questing hand to his lips and unashamedly licked his fingertips, savoring the taste of her on his lips and tongue, his eyes never leaving hers.

"My favorite treat." He pulled her tightly against him.

Her smile widened as she came to a decision. He was the piece of her that she needed to be happy, to be strong, to be free…and she was not going to wait any longer for permission or approval. "Chuck, when do you have to go back to New York?"

"In about another week's time." He was puzzled by her rather abrupt change of subject. "Father wants to see Jack and Georgina wed before we leave. Why do you ask?"

She kissed him lightly, then with greater passion. "Because I am going with you."

He was stunned. "But…your mother?" Was she actually choosing him?

"Will get used to the idea of our marriage, either before or after it takes place. I, however, cannot get used to the idea of not being your wife. As Casanova himself said, 'There is no such thing as destiny. We ourselves shape our lives'."

"Are—are you sure?" He did not want her to do something she would regret.

"It is clear as crystal to me. Unless…you no longer want me?"

He took both her hands in his and brought them to his lips, reverently kissing each palm. "I shall always want you. You hold my whole future in these two hands. Blair, I love you."

He had said it! He had actually uttered those 3 words/8 letters that she had so been waiting to hear. Tears welled in her eyes.

It could be argued that this was not his first declaration of love to her. That had come in the note he had slipped inside her glove. He had opened with, "My beautiful Blair," told her that he would move heaven and earth if he had to in order to gain her mother's approval of their match, asked her to wait for him, and closed with "3 words, 8 letters. C."

In the history of love letters, one might find longer missives, perhaps more eloquent, more poetic ones—this one did not even contain the actual word "love"-but certainly never had one been more cherished than this. Chuck Bass had never before written a love letter, nor received one. Neither had Blair. Yet both had happened in the same night.

Just reading the words thrilled her…and made her realize that he had not yet spoken them aloud. Since then, it had been her fondest wish to hear them from the man himself. And now it had happened.

"Say it again," she begged. "Say it again, please."

"I love you." He kissed her. "I love you." He kissed her again. "I am going to say it every day for the rest of our lives; you shall grow tired of hearing it," he warned.

"Never, because I love you too!" She placed her hands on both sides of his beloved face and her lips were mere inches from his….

Then the clock began striking midnight. It was unmasking time!

He took her hand and they began to run back to the ballroom.

* * *

Serena van der Woodsen decided she hated the Eighteenth Century. Her skirts were too wide, her corset too tight and the wig—ugh, too hot. What was wrong with natural hair, anyway? Despite the marvelous push-up effect the gown had on her bosom, she would have much preferred to be in her original costume choice of Queen Guinevere or, better yet, Lady Godiva in a nude-colored gown with her own blonde hair flowing down.

Still, Blair had been very generous in letting her borrow the extra costume and mask, even switching masks when her own gold filigree style was too much with the yellow shade of her gown. Speaking of Blair, her friend had disappeared who knows where and the unmasking would begin shortly. She was probably off somewhere with Mr. Bass and heaven help them both if Eleanor found them first.

Since the morning they returned to find Eleanor had arrived and Blair and Mr. Bass were engaged, life at the maison had become like living in a castle under siege, both inside and out. Mr. Bass was constantly trying to gain an audience (and eventual favor) with Eleanor, and Blair was pleading his case like the most impassioned of solicitors.

How lucky Blair was to have not one but two suitors! Serena tried not to be envious. It was not as if she herself hadn't received proposals. She had, but the gentlemen had been too old or too young, too many children (one widower had seven!) or too little money to be suitable. Blair had a beau, a fiancé, and was still receiving admiring glances from the Prince of Monaco. Could one actually still have a beau if one were affianced to another man?

She continued to make her way around the perimeter of the ballroom, when a masculine hand reached out and touched her arm.

"There you are! I have been looking for you." The voice was warm and deep.

Her heart sped up and, before she could stop it, a thrill went through her. For a moment she was so surprised she could say nothing. He was here!

"Your mother told me I would find you as Marie Antoinette in a silver mask." His own mask was gold and silver, but it couldn't conceal his wide smile or those oh so blue eyes.

She surveyed his costume, from the chain mail armor to the dress sword at his side. "A knight in shining armor," she murmured under her breath.

"Sir Lancelot, actually," he admitted sheepishly. "Come dance with me." Before she could utter another word, he'd taken her arm and they were on the dance floor. While many of the guests were imprisoned by heavy, cumbersome costumes, the armor posed no challenge for his broad shoulders and tall frame.

"Blair, I especially wanted to speak with you tonight. About the future, about our future…," he began.

This was it, the time to explain that she was not Blair and set things straight. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"You must let me say this, while I can summon the courage to do so."

Oh, dear God, he wasn't going to propose right here on the dance floor, was he? She was shocked speechless.

"In the short time since our acquaintance, I feel that we have become friends. Do you feel that too?"

She nodded dumbly.

"And I would like to be able to know you better, to see what the future can hold." He did not know why he had been so nervous about this before. She was remarkably easy to talk to tonight, listening intently, nodding encouragingly, and those eyes—they were as bright as a summer sky. Truth be told, he'd found her a little cold and intimidating before. Perhaps everyone was right, perhaps he simply needed to break the ice and release the ice queen.

Or awaken the Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. He would never have dared do such a thing at a regular ball, but this was a masquerade…and her eyes were sparkling with life…her lower lip was quivering almost imperceptibly…it was all the invitation he needed. He bent down, though he didn't have to bend far, to place the gentlest of kisses on her lips.

Well, that had been the intent anyway. He had not gambled on those lips kissing him back after the slightest pause, making the blood rush through his veins, making him feel more alive than he ever had in his life.

He drew back and they just stared at each other in wonder.

Then the music stopped.

And a bell rang.

It was midnight.

All around them, guests began removing their masks.

"Blair, there you are, darling! Guess who arrived this evening?" Eleanor came hurrying over, but she passed the couple on the dance floor to get to another couple standing several feet beyond them.

"Blair?!" he echoed, for there was an unmasked Blair Waldorf, face flushed and smiling, standing in front of another face he knew quite well.

But if that was Blair, then who was…?

Slowly, she released his hand, then untied the ribbons and let the silver mask slide off her face and into her hands.

"Serena?!" He was aghast. And suddenly certain things began to make sense: those sparkling blue eyes, her height so much closer to his, his ease in speaking with her…

"Nathaniel?!" Chuck looked slightly ill.

"Your Grace!" Blair belatedly remembered her manners and curtsied.

Eleanor looked around at the four young people, all with varying looks of shock, confusion and dawning horror on their faces. She smiled in delight, oblivious to the tension between the quartet of friends as well as the curious stares of the rest of the partygoers.

"Blair, dearest, your beau is back. The Duke of Archibald has returned!"

To Be Continued in Chapter 7

* * *

Author's Notes: This chapter is dedicated to one of my dearest readers and friends, Chrys1130, as it is her birthday today. She is a beautiful person, inside and out, and I guarantee you will enjoy her stories.

This time, on Fiction Police Blotter:

[Sirens sound]

Me: What is it this time, officer? Was I quoting too fast again?

Officer: You were going a little heavy on the Casanova there, ma'am…

Me: I find him to be timelessly interesting. I think he would've made a splash regardless what century he'd been born in.

Officer: Let's not get defensive, ma'am. The actual reason I pulled you over is disturbing the peace.

Me: Say what?!

Officer: Ma'am, have you or have you not been belting out "My Boyfriend's Back" at the top of your lungs during the last three paragraphs?

Me: 'Belting'? That's such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as 'singing with great feeling.'

Officer: Well, it would be a great feeling to us all, ma'am, if you would stop singing altogether.

Me: Maybe I'll just hum under my breath.

Officer: You're getting kind of cocky now that you've reunited the NJBC, aren't you?

Me: Don't forget that Chuck said "I love you" in this chapter too. He wasn't even supposed to do that here! I think we both got a little moved by Blair choosing him.

Officer: How are you going to explain Blair's beau being Nate to all those Carter Baizen fans out there?

Me: Well…the story's not over yet, is it? *winks* The other CB may still be making an appearance.

Officer: Any historical tidbits for us today?

Me: The masquerade ball is based on a real party that was held at Devonshire House in England on July 2, 1897. The number of guests, the historical theme and the Prince of Wales' costume are all accurate. Pictures of the costumes from the Devonshire House Ball are incredible. Google it! (Bonus trivia: I almost made Nate go as Robin Hood, just to put him in tights…but as we've learned from Blair herself, tights are not pants.)

Officer: What about that 'masks off at midnight' thing?

Me: That's purely fictional on my part, I'm afraid. I wanted a little more drama.

Officer: You always do, ma'am, you always do.

Special thanks to chairship, SnowedUnderNJ, and Chrys1130 for their editorial assistance. Chrys, you have no idea how hard keeping the second half of this chapter from you has been.

Dearest readers, I am grateful to and for you. I hope the update brings you some peaceful moments and smiles during this hectic season. Please let me know your thoughts. Reviews make lovely holiday gifts—and hey, no long lines or bills!

Until next time…xoxo


	7. Chapter 7

In the last chapter of _The Gilded Cage_ : Chuck met Blair's mother, who made it very clear that she did not approve of him as a suitor for her daughter's hand. Chuck set out to charm Mama Waldorf, but did not succeed. At a secret rendezvous at the masquerade ball, Blair decided to marry Chuck anyway and go back to New York with him. Everyone was surprised by the arrival of Blair's suitor, the Duke of Archibald, especially Serena, with whom he shared a kiss.

* * *

Chapter 7

In terms of fashion, Mr. Charles Bartholomew Bass was never less than perfectly turned out. And never was that more true…or more important…than today…

Because today Chuck Bass was marrying Blair Waldorf.

He adjusted the already immaculate folds of his ascot, smoothed his silver waistcoat and placed the shiny black top hat on artfully styled locks of dark hair.

It was unlike him to be nervous, but never had he wanted anything more and never had he come so close to losing it. This past week following the masquerade ball had been torture.

His mirror check was suddenly interrupted when his father came striding in. Bart Bass never seemed to actually walk anywhere; he was more like a general marching in to review the troops and give orders.

"Oh, Charles, there you are." That seemed rather ironic to Chuck, as he had been in the same location all morning. "Are you ready for our departure home tomorrow?"

"More than ready." He was done with this torturous wait to marry Blair. By tomorrow, they would be wed and on their way to sail home. Chuck couldn't wait to show her his hotel, the company, all his favorite Manhattan stomping grounds. He was certain that seeing these things with Blair would be like seeing them with new eyes. They could scout locations for their own home and hopefully squeeze in a short honeymoon trip.

"You appear to have forgotten something then." Bart's voice sounded amused. He whipped something out of his pocket and a flash of red came flying at Chuck.

Startled, Chuck nonetheless caught the projectile in midair. He looked down in surprise at the crimson leather box embossed with gold leaf trim and the word Cartier.

"I stopped by the jewelers this morning and they told me they had this ready for you. Please tell me that is not what I believe it to be," Bart frowned.

Almost without meaning to, Chuck opened the box. There, against the midnight velvet lining of the box, eight carats of cushion-cut diamond sparkled up at him. The center stone was flawless in both cut and clarity, a kaleidoscope of endless depths of color and brilliance. It was held in place by four platinum prongs and flanked on both sides by tapered baguette stones. It was unique and captivating. Just like Blair. His lips curled into a grin. Cartier had exceeded his expectations and he was delighted. He hoped Blair would be as well.

"A custom design. You have excellent taste in jewelry, son, if not in prospective brides. You intend that for Miss Waldorf, I assume?"

"You know I do. You have doubtless inspected the ring, seen the inscription."

"My B, 3 words, 8 letters, Always, C? In terms of romantic phrases, it leaves something to be desired, but it does not matter what it might say, you do not have the all-important words that are needed to win her hand. You have no title, no crowns or coronets…and sadly that means no Blair Waldorf."

The words stung and Chuck opened his mouth to argue, but before any words could be uttered, his father raised a hand to silence him.

"Do not spout some romantic nonsense to me about how love conquers all and dreams come true. We live in the real world, son. It is time you remembered that. I have no doubt that she cares for you, but she is not for you. I have been half expecting to hear any day now of her engagement to one of the titled young men in her orbit, maybe even your old friend Archibald."

Chuck winced. This was hitting a little too close for comfort.

"Son, save yourself. Stop dreaming of something that cannot happen. Give that ring to someone who can happily accept you. In a year's time, Miss Waldorf will be married to some fancy title, living in an ancestral pile of bricks that her money will maintain and you will just be a fond memory of her Parisian debut."

He had no intentions of being a 'fond memory' in Blair's life. He was Chuck Bass and he was going to be Blair Waldorf's husband, lover, best friend and the father of her children. His jaw clenched and his finger reflexively did the same around the small box in his hands.

"That ring belongs to Blair and only Blair. If you think otherwise, you have a very poor opinion of both her and me." He tried to sound resolute and unaffected in his tone, but the hurt and anger he was feeling came through.

"On the contrary, I quite admire Miss Waldorf and think her a lovely girl." He smiled then, and Chuck marveled that that unaccustomed expression did not cause his father's face to crack. "She is rather resourceful," he added, his smile turning to an enigmatic one.

Chuck's eyes shot up to his father's face. Did Bart suspect Blair's role in the Jack-Georgina match?

Bart moved closer to Chuck and uncharacteristically clapped him on the back. "But you are my son, Chuck, and I do not wish to see you hurt."

It was hard to say which shocked Chuck the most: the physical demonstration of affection, the use of his preferred name or the kindly words from the man who was usually his toughest critic. He was speechless.

In the blink of an eye, Bart retreated behind his armored shell. The hand was withdrawn, the smile disappeared and his voice became brusque and no-nonsense once more. "Think about what I have said. This is a very exciting time in your life. Be present and make the most of your opportunities."

Bart left the room, leaving Chuck to stare after him before shaking himself out of his reverie. His father was right about one thing: It was a very exciting time in his life and, with any luck, it would be a day he and Blair would remember forever.

* * *

The usually short distance it took to travel to Mrs. Rhodes' maison seemed to be taking forever today. Nerves and excitement warred within Chuck. Maybe it was his father's words or maybe every prospective groom felt like this on the big day. Regardless, Chuck hadn't felt this anxious in a very long time….

Not since…

 **Eton College, Berkshire, several years prior**

"The Head Master will see you now." The pronouncement was grave…and terrifying. Not that Chuck Bass was afraid of the Head Master per se; he was, however, afraid of the punishment that would be meted out.

Writing out Latin hexagrams? No problem.

Taking a public, bare-bottomed beating with a birch rod? Well, it wouldn't be the first time his posterior had gotten public exposure. Probably wouldn't be the last either.

But expulsion? That completely changed the stakes. That meant he'd be packed up and sent back to Bart, but it wouldn't be a homecoming. No, he'd be sent off to military school this time, Bart had been very specific about that contingency. Early morning drills, itchy woolen uniforms, being awash in a sea of little tin soldiers. It was Chuck's worst nightmare.

Not that coming to Eton had been a stroll through Hyde Park. He'd come midway through Michaelmas half, a new student among boys who already knew each other and had established a hierarchy. Not merely a new student, he was an American, a rarity in the most pre-eminent boy's school in England. Future leaders and statesmen studied at Eton. Why, the Duke of Wellington, an Old Etonian himself, was rumored (wrongly, it turns out) to have remarked that the Battle of Waterloo was first won in the halls of Eton. Bart Bass had needed to play up his English ancestry as well as donate funds for a new research library and uniforms for the rowing team to secure a place in that hallowed establishment for his son. Much like the American debutantes in Europe, Chuck had needed money to serve as his entree into that world.

In terms of studies, there wasn't much difference between Eton and his former Manhattan prep school. Courses in mathematics or Latin were universally uninspiring, but posed little challenge for Chuck. Then again, his academic abilities had never been the issue. His marks in Manhattan reflected that he chose not to do the work, not that he was incapable.

What was different was his social situation. Granted, students at Eton were kept busy with studies and other activities from dawn to dusk. It was said that Eton's true strength was aiding boys in finding their true interests and paths in life. Chuck did not need that; it was a foregone conclusion that one day he would join the family firm.

What he did need was a friend.

For someone who was constantly surrounded by hundreds of boys his age, he lived a fairly solitary existence. Not that he hadn't always been on his own to some degree, he just seemed to feel it more keenly here.

His fellow students didn't seem to know how to take Chuck. At first, it was endless curious stares everywhere he went. Then they tried to assimilate him into their hierarchy. Eton had a long tradition of the upperclassmen compelling new students and younger boys to fag for them—bring their breakfasts, clean their rooms, run their errands, and act as their personal servants. Half the fun of doing so was tormenting the younger students. Carter, the Marquess of Baizen's son, especially enjoyed this and took great delight in having Chuck and some of the other boys at his command. But no matter how imperious Carter became, Chuck showed no nerves, stress or fear…he merely looked bored. Eventually, Baizen grew tired of the game, almost ignoring Chuck altogether.

It came as a great surprise then, when Baizen issued an invitation (or was it more of a summons?) for Chuck and a couple of other underclassmen to sneak out one night and go to a pub in the town of Eton. One of those students was Nathaniel Archibald. At that point, Chuck had limited awareness of the Duke's heir. Oh, he knew who Archibald was, and that he was tall, blond, and excelled in all things athletic, especially the rowing team. He seemed easygoing, polite and uncomplicated. In short, the antithesis of Chuck Bass.

The night of the planned outing (escape?) found the boys scrambling out of their uniforms and into street clothes Baizen had somehow procured. It was a shame, Chuck thought, as he rather liked the classic look and fit of Eton's black morning coat and waistcoat, pinstriped pants, white shirt linen with a false collar and a white tie. He wished he might wear a white bow tie with the ensemble, but that was sadly reserved for senior students only. Chuck's uniform fit a bit better than the other students' because he'd bribed one of the dames who ran the dormitory to alter it specifically for him. The idea of shucking that and throwing on some unknown person's castoffs was in no way reassuring to him, however necessary it might be.

Archibald, on the other hand, was giddy at the thought of shedding his responsibilities for the evening and blowing off some steam. As were the other boys. Chuck just couldn't help wondering why they had been brought along on the excursion. Was it to ensure their silence about the plans or was there some other motive?

The evening passed pleasantly enough, with plenty of ale, meat pies and dances with the pretty barmaids. Chuck had to grin at Archibald ogling one particularly busty, blonde server. When he teased the young man about it, he was surprised by Nathaniel good-naturedly laughing right along with him. All in all, it was quite the most pleasant evening he'd passed since being exiled from Manhattan.

They quietly slipped back into their dormitory, but perhaps not quietly enough…

A maid spied Chuck in civilian clothes and wondered at his returning to his room at such a late hour dressed as he was.

The maid told the dame who ran housekeeping and medical services for the dormitory.

The dame confided in the boys' House Tutor.

The Tutor informed the House Master.

The House Master reported it to the Head Master, and that was how Chuck Bass came to be in the hot seat.

The summons came during the nightly gathering of students known as Prayers. Originally designed as a time for religious reflection, the event had evolved over the years into a mixer where announcements might be made and one might socialize and network with one's peers. Upon hearing that the Head Master was requesting young Bass's presence, a hush went through the crowd. All eyes went to Chuck. Most students were confused but curious. Carter Baizen actually snickered.

Nathaniel Archibald looked concerned. Nate glanced at Carter and other boys who'd gone on the outing, feeling it was unfair that, while they'd all participated in the rule breaking, Chuck was the one being singled out for punishment. No one met his eyes. They just let Chuck calmly exit the room.

This seemed even more wrong to Nate. Since he was skilled at sport and had an affable manner, Nate seemed popular with his fellow students, but he didn't really feel like they truly knew or cared about him. Tonight when Chuck had laughed and joked with him, he'd felt an unexpected kinship with the American, like he'd actually found a new friend. It did not sit well with him to let that friend face his fate alone.

In the Head Master's office, Chuck was grilled endlessly on where he had gone, what he had done, who had gone with him. Since he couldn't very well deny he'd been out, he did confess to leaving school grounds for a spot of dinner in the nearby town, but vehemently denied he had any accomplices. Chuck's confession and denial were convincing—so much so that he almost believed himself—that is, until there was a knock on the Head Master's door.

A pair of guileless blue eyes in a candid face peered into the room. "Sir, I am here to confess my part in the outing with Charles Bass."

Chuck internally rolled his eyes. Had Archibald completely lost his senses? What was he thinking coming down to the Head Master's office? It was like baiting a lion in his den.

"Really, Archibald?" the Head Master raised an eyebrow. "Sit down. Bass here claims he acted alone. Was anyone else with you on this fool's errand?"

"No, sir," Nate shook his head as he sat down in a chair next to Chuck.

"I see. And what motivated this severe breech of the rules of this school?" The Head Master's tone was severe. Chuck's heart sank. There was no way Archibald would be able to withstand that. Heaven only knew what he would start confessing to at any moment!

"Well, you see, sir…I guess you might say it was a strong desire for meat pies. Have you ever dined at The Goat and Thistle?" Nate gave him his sunniest smile.

One would have had to be the most disagreeable cur alive not to smile back, which the Head Master did. "This must never be repeated, Archibald. And you will have to write out five hundred Latin hexagrams."

"I understand, sir."

"Now you, Bass, will have to face a stiffer penalty. For you to be causing such trouble in your first half at Eton…," he shook his head, "I am tempted to have you expelled and sent home."

"Oh, sir, no, you must not!" Nate involuntarily rose from his seat in Chuck's defense.

"Sit down, Archibald, you are not a duke yet! I said I was tempted, not that this was the decided course of action." He glared at both boys. "I do believe, however, that an example should be made to other students who might want to follow in your ill-chosen footsteps. You will report to the birching block in the Library tomorrow at noon. I trust there will not be a repeat of tonight's misdeeds in the future. Good evening to you, gentlemen."

Dismissed, the boys left the office breathing sighs of relief. They had left earlier in the evening as virtual strangers. Now, after their shared experiences and Nate's championing of Chuck's cause, they suddenly felt like very old friends. Woe unto anyone, be it the Head Master or Carter Baizen, who stood in their way.

Though few at Eton could understand it or articulate why, the pair became inseparable, almost brothers. They were usually found together and Nate even took Chuck home with him during school breaks. During one of their later years at Eton, Chuck was even heard saying that he cared for "only three things in this life: money, the pleasures money brought and Nathaniel."

* * *

Now Chuck was sitting in a carriage on his way to elope with his best friend's planned bride. He had never been so happy…or felt like such a cad. If Blair's suitor had been any other man on earth….

It was a huge gamble, a risk of risks. He and Blair were betting that Nate could forgive them and her mother could accept Chuck. The cards were on the table. It was time to roll the dice. It was time to go all in….

Waiting. He'd always hated waiting.

At first he believed Blair was just a bit late, as she'd been the night of their Moulin Rouge outing. But the minutes ticked by, until finally an hour had passed and he could no longer deny it: there was some sort of problem and he needed to go discover what it was.

He was ready to take on anything or anyone to get to his bride.

* * *

 **Archibald Priory, Kent, several days later**

Blair Waldorf walked over to the leaded glass window and peered down at the scene below. Serena and the Duke of Archibald were laughing merrily as they played a game of croquet, with Eleanor and Dowager Duchess Anne looking on and talking, Dorota standing at attention behind Mrs. Waldorf.

Good, they were getting on just fine without her.

Once upon a time, just a few short months ago, she would have been thrilled to come to a house party at the Duke's estate. The idea of becoming mistress of a grand old estate that had once belonged to an archbishop and had been in the same family for almost three hundred years should have been thrilling. There was a thousand acres of land, a deer park and a myriad of manicured gardens. The main house was enormous and it was said to be a calendar house (365 rooms, 52 staircases, 12 entrances and 7 courtyards)—though who on earth would actually find the time to verify that? The medieval architectural design in grey and brown stone gave a regal look to the place. Henry VII had stayed here several times and priceless paintings by old masters lined the gallery. If one were looking for timeless elegance and rich history, one need look no further than the Priory.

She should have been happy, proud, excited for the future.

Instead she was anxious and thoroughly miserable.

The day was uncharacteristically hot and her corset felt as if it were literally cutting into her body. If she could just be alone and out of the heat for a few moments…if she could just stop thinking of Chuck and how she might, right this moment, be married to him and sailing for New York…if wishes were horses….

She was struggling to reach the long row of buttons that ran down her back when the door to her room quietly opened and other fingers took on the task of disengaging the buttons of her gown and unlacing the stays underneath. Blair sighed in relief, then let out a little yelp of surprise when a piece of ice was pressed against the back of her neck, then gently glided down under her chemise, all the way to the base of her spine. She shivered in delight. "Oh, Dorota, I have no idea where you found that ice, but it's heavenly, thank you."

There was a low chuckle and a familiar, distinctly non-Dorota-like voice whispered in her ear. "Are we playing masquerade now? I always rather envisioned myself as the poor stable lad and you as the high-born lady of the manor, but if you need me to brush your hair or unlace your gown, I can do Polish maid instead." He placed the small block of ice in the china bowl on her bedside table.

"Chuck!" She whirled around, grinning from ear to ear and wrapping him in an enthusiastic embrace. "When did you get here? Aren't you supposed to be sailing home now? Are you terribly angry that I couldn't meet you in Paris?"

He wanted to play hard to get, to make her worry just a little for the anxiety she'd caused him when he'd arrived at the maison to find she'd left for England. But he found he could not, not with her so happy to see him, as happy as he was to see her. "I was rather surprised and very disappointed to find only Mrs. Rhodes when I arrived at the maison. She was supervising the maids closing up the house, but she poured me a scotch and gave me your letter."

"Then you know that I most certainly did not want to come here. I flatly refused. Mother and I argued and then she had a fainting spell. That was the only thing that made me agree to leave and I have been sorry ever after. Especially when she came right round and has seemed fine ever since. Can you believe she would scheme so?"

The corners of his lips turned up. "I suppose it is reassuring to learn that her daughter comes by the skill honestly."

"Stop!" she playfully swatted his arm. "I have not been alone with you since the masquerade ball, and that did not end well for us. I am still amazed that the Duke is your old school friend."

"Nathaniel has been like a brother to me. I shall be greatly relieved when everything is out in the open. Have you had the opportunity to speak with him yet?"

She shook her head. "I have not been alone with him a single second since he arrived in Paris. My mother or Serena—or both—are always there. I can hardly turn down his proposal if he is unable to make it."

He nodded. "I understand, but it is so very awkward. I dislike keeping secrets from him. And I want to be able to tell the whole world that Blair Waldorf is going to be mine."

"I am already yours," she smiled up at him and brushed her lips against his. "Speaking of which, did you really mean what you said…that you would really perform any task I might wish?"

"You know I am your willing slave, my lady," he gave a low bow and when he rose, desire shone in his eyes, sending a heated rush through her whole body.

"Then be a good boy and lock the door." The half whispered words were anything but coy.

"As my lady wishes." He turned the key in the lock before turning back to her and capturing his lips with his and kissing her breathless. "Do you really want me to be a good boy?"

She grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him onto the bed with her, closing the dark red curtains around the canopied bed and encasing them in a little world of their own.

"Never! Now tell me more about the lady and the stable boy," she purred.

"Turn around," the words were whispered against her ear and goosebumps rose along her arms. She obliged and he went back to work on her gown, patiently unbuttoning and unlacing as he told the story.

"He is a just a stable boy, content enough…until she comes into his stables…."

He slid her gown down the length of her body and pulled the loosened corset from around her. So much for thinking it was the corset that was inhibiting her breath; right now, it was all him.

"She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. She shines brighter than all the stars in the night sky."

The silk chemise was next. He slid the straps down her arm slowly, oh so slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

"And he wants her, like nothing he has ever wanted before in his life."

He reached out and grabbed the now smaller piece of ice he'd brought up from the kitchens, retracing the sensual path down her spine and following behind with warm breaths and slow kisses. Lower, lower, lower…

She shivered and turned in his arms and he repeated the process on her neck, her collar bone, her décolletage, her breasts…. She purred in his ear and pulled him even closer.

"Perhaps she wants him just as much? Because he makes her feel alive and beautiful and precious…," Blair suggested.

"Maybe," he conceded, his hands cupping her breasts, bringing them to his lips.

She cried out then and his lips covered hers in a gentle reminder that they were seizing a stolen moment and could not be discovered.

"But it is more than just her beauty to him. It is her mind and her soul as well." He pushed a lock of dark hair away from her face, and let his fingers touch the part of her chest where he could feel her heartbeat. "To him, she is the perfect woman. And he dare not touch her, nor even speak of his feelings to her. It is forbidden."

"But he seems a rather daring sort, doesn't he?" she argued. "I can't believe he does not make his feelings clear to her somehow.

"I would imagine his eyes watch her whenever they can, and his fingers linger on hers when he's helping her into the saddle or down from the horse, when he passes her the reins."

"And I would imagine that he often catches her looking back at him. I bet she undresses him with her eyes, wondering what he's really like under that poorly dressed façade." Her fingers loosened his tie and went to work on the buttons of his shirt. "But that cannot go on forever. Someone, someday has to make a move. Perhaps one day as she's getting down from her horse, she gets a cramp in her leg. Ooh!" To lend credibility to her act, Blair bent to grasp her calf. "Boy, you must help me!"

"And how could I refuse my lady's command?" His fingers massaged the silky stocking-clad limb, in light circles and then with deeper pressure. It felt so good that Blair thought it would be worth suffering a real cramp to get just this sort of attention.

"How does that feel, my lady?"

"Mmm, so good…but I think the cramp has moved further up my leg." She tried to look innocent…and failed completely. Her eyes were not matching her mouth…in the most delicious way.

His hands went to her waist, to the drawstring on her pantalets, releasing it and sliding the garment down and away from her body.

Then his fingers climbed higher, stroking the silky expanse of her thighs and placing soft kisses on the delicate, creamy skin there.

"Tell me where it hurts, sweetheart."

She was done with waiting then, done with playing. "Please, Chuck, please?"

And then she was fully reclined on the bed, legs splayed, with the man she adored making love to her with his mouth, worshipping her with his tongue.

Oh, that naughty tongue! It teased and stroked, sweeping over her again and again in swirls of pleasure. Her fingers tightened in his hair, tangling in the waves of it as she sought to bring him even closer to her. Involuntarily, her hips closed around him, the sweet silkiness of her thighs pulling him closer to her.

If that made it harder to breathe, to think…well, he'd always suspected she might be the death of him. And too much of Blair Waldorf could never, ever be enough. The smell, the feel, the taste of her incited all his senses. Even the sound of her breath, going from shallow gasps to ragged pants, accentuated by little purrs of pleasure, was an aphrodisiac.

He loved her beyond reason and his heart swelled even further when her cries grew louder, her fingers grasped and pulled his hair and he could feel the bliss go through her whole body.

She slumped back into the bed pillows with a dazed smile on her face and he came up to hold her in his arms again, covering her neck and shoulder with kisses.

They lay like that for several moments before she spoke. "That was amazing, but aren't you…don't you want to come inside me again?" It was the most simple yet seductive of questions.

He kissed her lips and groaned. "Blair, there is nothing I want more than that…well, there is something. I want to be more than just a man on your dance card, more than the man in your bed, I want to be your husband. The next time I come inside you, I want you to be my wife." His eyes were burning right through her, right into her soul.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Chuck, I want that too. So, so much. These last few days have killed me, knowing that I am stuck here when we might even now be married and sailing for home…or anywhere. Home is wherever I am with you. I did not want to come here, you must believe that. I adamantly refused, and then Mother collapsed right there in the foyer, and I got so scared that the next thing I knew Dorota had my bags and we were on our way here. I never meant to desert you."

"Shh, I know that, sweetheart," he put a reassuring hand on her arm. "I certainly never expected to spend that afternoon in Mrs. Rhodes' parlor, drinking scotch and having her explain that you'd gone. I think she rather hopes I will win you yet. I am glad that someone does! Between your mother and my father…."

She gave him a look of surprise and hurt. "Your father does not approve of me as your wife?"

"I think he fears you are a lost cause for me," Chuck admitted. "He believes that I should just let you marry your duke and I should focus on our business right now."

"But I don't want to marry any other man! You are the one I never want to leave. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. In my heart, I am already your wife."

"In every way that matters," he agreed. "I just want that to be official. I want the rest of our life to start as soon as possible."

"We have hurdles to overcome, but we can do that." Blair's faith remained firm. "In the meantime, you are here…and I am here…in this deliciously comfortable bed. I'd love to just leave the curtains closed and stay in here forever, just like this."

He pulled her in for another kiss. "Just like this?"

She gave him a naughty smile before she rotated her body around and went to work on the buttons of his pants. "Well, maybe like this?"

Before he knew it, she had his pants unfastened and was making short work of his silk drawers. He was lying naked before her and she was appreciating him with her eyes, then with her lips and tongue.

She drew him into her mouth, her eyes looking up and never leaving his as she gloried in the scent and texture of his skin. His fingers reached down to stroke her cheek tenderly as he watched her. He could have gone on watching her, but the sensations she was producing with her ministrations were going straight through him, making him even harder. He squeezed his eyes closed.

His fingers curled momentarily in the sheets before they sought her out once more. He started with her feet, since they were now the part of her that was closest to him. He planted a kiss in the instep and then moved his lips up to her ankle.

She gasped for a second and then caught her breath and continued.

He nibbled and nipped and kissed his way up her calf, encircling her knee with caresses and he moved his head to rest on her calf.

He was not making it easy to focus on the task at hand. She made a little sound of pleasure and kept going.

Oh, how he loved the skin on her inner thighs. It was truly one of his favorite parts of her whole body. Extra soft and highly sensitive, it sent little sparks through her as he spread her legs, making the bottom limb his pillow as he settled in to lavish little love bites and kisses on her top thigh.

If she hadn't been so enraptured by the feel of him in her mouth, by the taste of his skin on her tongue, then she might have been anticipating the second when his tongue began to lave her most intimate of places. Instead, it managed to come as a complete surprise.

Their bodies were intertwined, hands caressing, lips and tongues worshiping each other, each determined to retain focus and bring the other to ultimate pleasure. It was a competition, a dance, an otherworldly experience.

It was impossible to separate the ragged breaths, the little cries…it was a wild and beautiful symphony that played on and on….

His hand came from where it had been stroking the rounded curve of her hip and reached into the sheets, seeking something…and finding it. Then, his tongue still teasing the little nubbin that was the center of her pleasure, his fingers glided the remnants of their near forgotten ice cube across her cleft, inside her folds, and finally inside herself.

The combination of the heat of his mouth and the chill of the ice was excruciating pleasure. Bliss overcame her and she sucked him even harder into her mouth to contain her cries, prompting him to follow her into ecstasy. She drank of his essence with an unquenchable thirst, before they collapsed in each other's arms.

"You cheated." Her accusation would've been more forceful had she not been so exhausted. "That thing with the ice? That was cheating."

He stretched beside her and pulled her even closer. "I beg to differ. I was simply using every weapon in my arsenal."

His smirk prompted a tired but happy smile.

"You are so beautiful. I wish I could paint you just as you are right now."

"All rumpled in the sheets, with my hair askew?" she sounded dubious.

"Exactly so. What could be more desirable? It would be a gift." He kissed her palm. "Speaking of gifts, I have one for you."

"It is not another ice cube, is it?" she giggled.

He reached down and fumbled for his trousers, taking a small box out of the pocket and handing it to her.

"What's this?" She was undeniably intrigued.

"Open it and see," he coaxed, watching as her fingers pried the cover up and revealed the box's contents.

There it was….

It was a brooch, and quite the most unusual brooch she'd ever seen! It was about an inch across and surrounded by a perfect row of seed pearls. The brooch itself was made of ivory and painted with a miniature depiction of one dark eye and a bold, even darker brow.

"Is that…?" she looked up at him quizzically.

"It is an eye miniature and, yes, it is my eye. I had it commissioned for you. It is a traditional Georgian love gift. There's a special story behind it, you see."

"Do tell!"

"Over a hundred years ago, in the 1780s, the Prince of Wales (who later became George IV) met and fell in love with a lady named Maria Fitzherbert. He was completely besotted with her and wanted to marry her, but he could not."

"Why not?" The story seemed to be taking a rather sad turn.

"Maria was six years his senior, twice widowed and a Catholic. It was forbidden."

"So the brooch is simply a memento of their lost love?" Blair could not understand what message Chuck might be trying to impart.

"No, he asked her to marry him anyway!"

Blair smiled.

"She agreed," he grinned as Blair's smile widened, "but then she thought better of it and fled to the Continent."

Blair frowned. "This is not a happy story, Chuck!"

"Be patient. It gets better. Prince George was devastated. He wrote her a letter with a second proposal of marriage, but he didn't send her an engagement ring. He commissioned Richard Cosway to paint his eye and had the painting set in a locket for Maria. The idea was that it could be worn openly, as only those who knew him well could recognize him from the eye alone."

"And did it work?"

"They were married a month later in a secret ceremony. She even had an eye miniature of herself commissioned as a gift for him." Chuck sounded a bit smug about the happy ending.

"I see only two problems with this story. First, having studied English history, I can tell you that George IV's queen was not named Maria." A sad tone crept into Blair's voice.

"It is true that she was never Queen of England, but she was always the queen of his heart, as you are of mine," he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "And second?"

"The painting is exquisite! The artist captured so well the face that I love." She held the miniature up to Chuck's face with one hand and stroked his cheek with the other. "Perhaps too well, for anyone with eyes can see that the subject is you! Yours is a very singular face; it's beautiful and unique. The first time I saw you I thought you looked like a fallen angel."

He smirked. "I thought you were so beautiful you could make angels fall. You do not have to wear the brooch, you know; it's merely a token of my love for you."

"Merely a token?! I adore it! I shall wear it every day, even if I cannot do so openly. Thank you."

"It is just a reminder that I will always look at you with love…and maybe I was hoping that a second proposal might be luckier than the first. Blair, you have my heart…and now my eye," he grinned, "dare I hope you will give me your hand in marriage?"

"If you asked me a thousand times, I would not waver. My answer will always be yes!"

* * *

Eleanor Waldorf sat in a corner of one of the many drawing rooms at Archibald Priory, surveying the scene whilst conversing with her friend Anne, the Dowager Duchess. Dowager? Hah! The lady in question was much the same age as herself, in the prime of life, much too young to be saddled with such an aging title. But then again, Eleanor understood little of the archaic customs of titles and the peerage. She only knew that, as titles went, dukes were at the top of the heap and were in short supply. There were only twenty-seven dukes in all of England. To find one of the right age who was single, in want of a wife, and not unattractive or unpleasant was more difficult than one might initially think.

Eleanor had done that. Nathaniel was handsome and of a sunny disposition. His lineage and home had an impressive history and one day he would serve in the House of Lords. Any girl would be thrilled with such a catch!

Any girl but her willful, wayward daughter. Eleanor sighed. Oh, at first, she had been happy enough about the prospect of becoming the next Duchess of Archibald. She had even seemed fond of the Duke, but that was before _he_ arrived on the scene.

Charles Bass. Even the sound of his name left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The sound of her daughter's laughter rang out from the card table where she was engaged in a fierce game with the Duke, Serena, and the aforementioned Bass. Eleanor's eyes darted over to her beloved only child.

It is said that all parents regard their offspring as beautiful and special, but in Eleanor's case, that was the unbiased truth. Blair had been a beautiful baby and continued to bloom, even in her early teens when many girls were prone to spots on their faces and awkward moments. So if Eleanor had to tie Blair to a board-like contraption to maintain her posture, to have Dorota give her milk baths to keep her porcelain skin pristine, or to forbid her daughter dessert to avoid unflattering weight gain, then she had no qualms about that. Her daughter was going to have a secure, unshakable place in society, and from that place, she was going to become a woman of influence and power.

Blair was intelligent and accomplished, so why had she allowed her head to be turned so easily by Charles Bass?

Oh, he was handsome, Eleanor would give him that, but she knew just how little one's husband's looks had to do with one's happiness. She also knew firsthand how very charming Bass could be. She had no faith in men's pretty words either. Perhaps he could charm the birds right out of the trees; rumor had it that he'd charmed enough ladies out of their pantalets. What such a worldly man was after from her debutante daughter was a mystery.

Charles and Blair did make a very striking couple together. It was more than just their matching coloring, more than the stylish way they wore their clothing, it was…something in the air between them, in the way they seem to communicate without saying a word. A link, a bond, a sort of chemistry between two powerful personalities.

Yes, she could see how that might be attractive to her daughter, but Blair mustn't let that blind her to reality. Eleanor had thought she'd handled the Bass situation. Blair had been unexpectedly stubborn about staying in Paris, only agreeing to leave when she'd had the fainting spell. She knew Blair believed it wasn't real, that she'd been malingering to get Blair to do as she requested. Ah, she wished that were true. She had not come so far, both literally and figuratively, to turn back now.

Laughter echoed from the table again and Eleanor gave the quartet a keen look. This time, all four were laughing, with Blair and Mr. Bass sharing a secret smile. Suddenly it occurred to Eleanor that no one could see Chuck's right hand or Blair's left. Dear Lord, surely they weren't holding hands under the table! Tonight she would see to it that Dorota locked Blair's bedroom door and held the key.

Her daughter and that man were proving to be quite the challenge. Eleanor had been keeping her plans and motivations closely to her chest; perhaps the time had come to put all her cards on the table….

TBC in Chapter 8

* * *

Author's Note:

Greetings, readers! I hope you enjoyed this latest installment in the story. I apologize that it has taken more time than I would have liked to get this chapter into your hands. Between the holidays, the flu and an unexpected root canal, my life has been a bit crazed lately. But rest assured I will never forget this story or these characters!

For those who are following _One Secret I'll Never Tell_ , I hope to work on chapter 3 of that next.

I'd love to hear from you. Reviews make my day.

Until next time, xoxo!


	8. Chapter 8

Anything can happen at a country house party…

The Gilded Cage chapter 8

Blair Waldorf stealthily made her way down the darkened corridor at Archibald Priory. Pale skin in almost transparent muslin was illuminated by the candlestick in her hand. As she held up the flame, she was careful to avoid the long, dark waves of her hair, freshly brushed by Dorota, cascading over her shoulders.

If only she could see better in the near darkness! This floor of the Priory had no gaslight. She squinted as she recounted the number of doors she had passed. She was a woman on a mission, and that mission was to find Chuck Bass!

Some discreet questioning of one of the maids had revealed that she was in luck: Chuck's room was on the same floor as hers. He was only a few doors away and soon they would be able to indulge in some time alone together.

Not that she hadn't been enjoying the house party. On the contrary, the last three days had been a whirl of stately teas, picnics, lawn tennis, billiards and riding, in addition to walks through the deer park and the Priory's extensive grounds. Best of all, Chuck had been by her side the whole time—well, Chuck and Nate and Serena. Blair found that it gave her rather more freedom than she was used to and she made the most of it, savoring every second of their time together and even discreetly holding his hand under the dinner and card table. Nate and Serena were too caught up conversing with each other to notice, but Blair did occasionally feel the hard eyes of her mother upon her. She would make an effort then to say something amusing to the Duke and at his smile, her mother's face would soften.

The Prince of Wales had arrived this morning in a flurry of pomp and circumstance. As the heir to the one of the greatest empires the world knew and an arbiter of style and taste, Bertie's arrival was a state occasion and there was often a bit of politics and a great deal of networking done at these events. The Prince would stay for the remainder of the week, the Saturday-to-Monday-that time Americans rather vulgarly referred to as "the weekend."

Entertaining one's future monarch was neither easy nor inexpensive. Still, no expense was spared, even though that meant thousands of pounds in expenditures incurred by the host. The household had been a flurry of activity. New art was purchased for the gallery. Furniture was repaired. The grounds were freshly manicured. Two chefs were even hired from London to prepare his meals.

Oh, the meals! Could one ever eat more sumptuously than at an English country house party? The morning breakfast was served between nine and 10:30 a.m., buffet style. The variety was staggering: fruits, toast, rolls, tea cakes, muffins, pies, potted meats, fish, hams, kidney and bacon. The repast would be washed down with one's choice of tea, coffee, hot cocoa or juice. And that was just for the ladies; the gentlemen had an even more 'substantial' buffet.

The Prince was an avid shooter and the clocks in his own home at Sandringham were set ahead a half hour to allow more time for his hobby. Normally, Bertie would have been content to shoot all day, wagering on who might bag the most pheasant, but his favorites, Miss Waldorf and Miss van der Woodsen, were there and he decided that an archery tournament amongst the ladies of the house would be the ideal thing for the afternoon's entertainment.

In the second half of the nineteenth century, archery had become a popular phenomenon among women. It was the first organized, competitive sport for females. Even the Queen professed to adore it. Requiring strength, skill and a certain amount of affluence, it was by no means a sport for everyone. A fully drawn bow weighed about forty pounds and the arrows were about thirty inches long—quite a challenge to manage, especially in an afternoon tea gown and elaborate hat. In addition to the bow, arrow and targets, one needed a quiver with additional arrows and a special kit that contained beeswax to keep gloved fingers from slipping, a pencil and paper to keep score, and gold tokens that each contestant forfeited to the winner of the challenge.

Despite the fact that none of the ladies had their own equipment with them, they agreed to share the estate's equipment and to compete for fun.

Truth be told, this did not sit well with Blair, who dearly loved a good battle. She was greatly relieved the Prince shared her opinion.

"Gentlemen, I say we raise the stakes here and wager on which lady we feel is the true Diana the Huntress." Bertie looked around at the four contestants: Serena, Blair and two daughters of the Earl of Underwood.

Blair surveyed the competition. As did the gentlemen.

"I will wager two hundred pounds on Miss van der Woodsen," His Highness announced, opening the betting.

The Duke also put his money on Serena, muttering something about how she even looked like the Goddess of the Hunt, which caused both he and Serena to flush.

The other gentlemen in their group announced their bets, some backing Serena and others choosing one of the Earl's daughters. Blair, it seemed, had been dismissed as a serious contender.

"What say you, Bass?" Bertie had been waiting for Chuck's bet.

"I will wager…," he paused dramatically for effect, "one thousand pounds on Miss Waldorf."

A ripple of surprise went through the small crowd. Some were whispering about it; others were stunned speechless. Surely Mr. Bass could not mean to wager such a large sum?

"One thousand pounds?" Bertie raised a royal eyebrow.

"Indeed," Chuck confirmed with a nod. His eyes met Blair's and a little conspiratorial grin (or was it almost a smirk?) turned up the corners of his mouth.

Dowager Anne and Eleanor looked most displeased, though neither said anything for fear of causing even more of a ruckus…and besides, the Duke himself had chosen to back another competitor.

The competitors lined up and began their shoot. Although all four performed well, it was clear that Serena and Blair were the stars of the archery show and they were proving to be rather equally matched, which was understandable as they both belonged to the same archery club in New York and had been taught by the same instructor.

They were on the final round of targets when Blair whispered something to her friend. Serena's eyes went to Nate's, then dropped to the ground. Her face flushed and then she appeared flustered, so flustered that she nearly missed the target entirely. The gentlemen who'd placed their bets on her groaned.

Then Blair prepared to take aim. She glanced at Mr. Bass first and smiled, completely unruffled. And here accounts differ: some say she blinked to remove some dust from her eye, others say the little minx winked at him. Whichever one believed, it was incontestable that Blair's arrow sailed to the target and hit it with a perfect bullseye.

Applause broke out in the company and suddenly everyone was talking amongst themselves. Some of the gentleman grumbled as they handed over their wagers to Chuck.

Being royal had its privileges, as Bertie demonstrated when he bluntly asked what was on everyone's mind: "I say, Bass, however did you suspect that Miss Waldorf would win? She is such a dainty little thing, one can scarce believe she could even lift the bow, much less aim it with such accuracy."

Chuck just smiled as he pocketed his winnings. "She is the most powerful woman I know. And, like Cupid, when she shoots, she aims for the heart. I had no doubts."

A warm glow had spread through Blair at Chuck's words. It stayed with her through afternoon tea, supper and dancing. Now that the ladies had retired for the evening, Blair was eager to test the limits of her feminine power. Despite all their group activities over the past three days, she and Chuck had not been able to be alone together since those stolen moments in her room when he had first arrived. She'd heard tales of how some ladies had clandestine rendezvous with their loves at house parties such as this.

Now she was going to do the same.

Her mission had required some advance planning. She'd gossiped with one of the housemaids to find out which room belonged to her fiancé, then she'd procured a candleholder to light her way. Now if only she could see to find it! How could such a majestic house as the Priory not have gaslight throughout?

Blair sighed. It was only one of many little things that troubled her about the Priory. For all its elegance and stately beauty, decades had passed since any real maintenance had been done. For the past several centuries, the estate had earned its living, so to speak, from livestock and grain production. Now cheaper grain supplies from America had flooded European markets and sent that income spiraling down. To the casual observation, the lifestyle was as lush as ever, but if you looked closely you might note the staff was smaller, the slates on the roof required repair, and modernization was desperately needed. Blair had heard rumors that the top floor of the Priory was no longer being used, due to water running down the walls and crumbling plaster. It was troubling to a young lady who had been raised with the newest and best of everything in the most modern city in the world.

What was needed was clearly an infusion of capital. And that, Blair knew, was where the American heiresses, the "dollar princesses", came in. In exchange for a title and Old World lifestyle, the bride would bring a dowry that would keep the place going. After all, there were only so many Rembrandts that could be sold! Downsizing acreage on the estate was out of the question, as the house and land, like the title, were entailed and held in trust to be passed to the oldest son of the next generation. The Duke did not really own these things; he was merely one in a long line of Archibald trustees. It was how the game had been played for as long as anyone could remember.

Since she first arrived in Paris, Blair had been aware of these facts and she accepted them with good grace. She'd actually looked forward to the challenges of modernizing and running the Priory, as well as being the wife of a future member of Parliament. But somehow that had changed. It wasn't that she was daunted by these challenges…no, it was more than that. Looking at it now, the whole arrangement seemed so cold, even colder than the draughty passages and empty rooms in the manor house. Now Blair knew what it was like to be wanted and loved for her own self, not her bank balance. She no longer wanted to live in an historic castle as the Duchess of Archibald. Her dreams had changed. Now she wanted nothing more than to live in a smart brownstone close to Central Park as Mrs. Charles Bass…to help him succeed in business and watch their children grow.

The beauty of the dream brought a smile to her lips as she finally located the correct chamber and slipped inside. As she suspected, the gentlemen were still lingering over drinks and cigars downstairs, so Blair slipped into Chuck's freshly turned down bedding and snuggled into the covers, trying to get warm while waiting for him. It would be glorious not to have to sneak around to spend time alone with him. To be able to hold his hand in public, for his to be the first face she saw in the morning and the last at night sounded so wonderful…

She must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew, Chuck was bending over her, reaching for her hand.

"Blair?"

Oh, good, she had surprised him, just as she'd intended.

He was resplendent in his dark evening suit. She would never, ever tire of looking at him.

"I'm afraid I require a kiss goodnight." She grasped his lapels and pulled him down on the bed with her.

"As my lady wishes," he whispered the words against her ear.

The timbre of his voice sparked something in her. Tiny bumps rose down her arms and legs, the aureoles of her breasts tightened—she could feel him all the way to her toes.

And then their lips met, and she drank down his kiss, savoring the lingering taste of scotch and cigarettes on his breath. He was going straight to her head, and when his tongue tasted her lips, parted them, then teased her tongue, she felt quite dizzy.

"If I'd known you were waiting for me, I would have come upstairs much sooner," he murmured against her ear before planting a trail of kisses down her neck.

She shrugged. "You were busy with your scotch and cigarettes, all your manly vices."

"Maybe, but you are my favorite vice of all, the temptation above all others." He flipped over onto his back, bringing her with him and lovingly running his hands down her sides, into the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, finally settling in to squeeze her bottom. "And speaking of temptations…what are you wearing under your gown? I'd wager you're as naked as the day you were born."

She gave a naughty little laugh. "And just like this afternoon, you would win that wager." As if to prove her point, she pressed closer, melding her body to his even through the layers of cloth. "That was an impressive wager this afternoon…," her voice trailed off as she grinded against him.

"Safest bet I ever made." He sounded confident, cocky even.

"What makes you say that? How did you know I would win? No one thought I would."

"Because…," he paused to smile at her, "when they look at you, they only see this," his fingers brushed the sides of her lovely face, "or this," they continued down to trace the curves of her figure. "They totally discount your quick mind." His fingers massaged her temples for a moment before sliding down to her décolletage. "And your amazing heart." He traced a heart shape on her open neckline and she shivered at the feel of his fingers against her skin.

"They also did not see these," he kissed each eyelid in turn, "survey the other contestants…and then the corners of your mouth turned up just the slightest bit," he planted a kiss at the edge of her lips. "You smiled, because you knew you were going to win. That's how I knew you would be victorious."

"You see everything!" she marveled.

"I see you," he corrected. "That's all I need. Though I am curious how you turned it around on that last target. Serena was giving you a run for your money."

"Perhaps," she conceded, "but when it comes to archery, focus is all. I simply told her what I knew would make her lose hers."

"What was that?"

"That the Duke was watching her and probably admiring her backside." She laughed and he did too. "It worked because it was true! She is not immune to his charms either."

"I thought when I first met you both that she would make a good match for him. It does not bother you that he is supposed to be your beau?" He looked at her speculatively.

"I suppose it might...if I were planning on becoming the Duchess. As it is, I am just glad that they give us the opportunity to be together. This time with you has been heavenly. I just want to spend every day with you…and every night…just like this…." She squealed with delight when he rolled them over and kissed her breathless, giving her pleasure as only he could.

He gloried in the feeling when she did the same.

All too soon, they noticed the time.

"Blair, you should go," he urged, the reluctance coming through in his tone.

"I know," she sighed. "I just wish I could stay with you." She smoothed her nightgown and reached for her robe.

"I wish you could too. I wish you didn't have to wear that damned gown and that we didn't have to be quiet. When we're married, I'm going to pleasure you until you scream…and I don't care who hears. And then I'm going to hold you close all night."

"That cannot happen soon enough for me. I can't wait to be Mrs. Bass. Then we can go home to New York…together."

"Until then, Miss Waldorf, I'll just have to see you safely back to your room."

They shared one last kiss before he gave her the candleholder and walked her to the door.

"You know I cannot walk down the corridor with you. If someone saw us, there would be hell to pay. But I will watch until you are safely back in your room. Goodnight, Blair."

"Goodnight, Chuck," she rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I will dream about being your wife…and you being inside me again."

Her seductive whisper against his ear was driving him mad. He gritted his teeth. Until that day came, he had vowed to be a gentleman-or as near to a gentleman as he could manage.

* * *

Blair practically floated back down the hall to her room, so it came as a huge shock to find her mother, robed and wearing a lacy sleep cap, sitting on the end of her bed.

"Ah, there you are."

"Mother, I—I—." The shock was like a pail of icy water being poured over her.

Eleanor waved a weary hand. "Spare me the confessions or lies; I have no need of either. I can guess where you have been…and with whom. That is why I am here."

Blair looked at her mother blankly.

"I have had Dorota pack a bag for us. We will leave at dawn to go into town. We shall take the train to London. Before you throw your future away, there are some things you need to see."

* * *

Chuck Bass eschewed the men's buffet the following morning in favor of breakfasting with the ladies. He wanted—no, needed—to see Blair again. It was like a sickness, this fluttering in his stomach, this desperate, endless need for more of her. No amount of time spent with her satisfied him; it only whet his appetite for more. He knew he would feel this way tomorrow, next week, next year, sixty years from now.

He was quite surprised to learn that Blair and her mother had gone to London for the day. It seemed strange to him that she hadn't mentioned anything about it, but then again, they hadn't been discussing things as mundane as side trips when they were alone in his bed last night.

He shrugged off his disappointment and prepared to enjoy a day of shooting and athletic pursuits with his best friend and the men of the party. Still, it proved to be a long day waiting for her to return. When the gentlemen returned from their afternoon's activities, he was greatly relieved to hear the Waldorf women had also returned and would be at the ball that evening.

He rushed upstairs and ordered a bath, which took forever in that old mausoleum of a house. The maids had to heat the water downstairs, then fetch it upstairs in large metal containers. As much as he loved the history and majesty of these old places, there was something to be said for the modern conveniences of the Bass townhouse on Fifth Avenue. He felt sure Blair would agree. When they returned to New York, he was going to build her a home with every feature she might desire. It would be comfortable as well as luxurious. He pictured himself coming home after a day of working alongside his father running Bass Industries. Little feet would come running to meet him. A son? Or a daughter? Maybe both one day, with their beautiful mother smiling behind them in welcome.

As Arthur helped him finish dressing for dinner, Chuck wondered idly what Blair would be wearing. Though he very much preferred her wearing nothing at all, Blair and he had a remarkable knack for choosing complementary ensembles. They were a fashionably dressed pair, and heads turned when the two were together. Chuck liked to think that it was more than just the physical that drew their eyes, that people could see they belonged together. If only he could see Blair right now!

The wait for dinner was not long, but it felt like an eternity to Chuck. Nathaniel approached him as he came downstairs, saying he had good news, but Chuck brushed him off quickly, undeterred in his search for Blair. More guests filed into the dining room, before, finally, a smiling Eleanor entered with her daughter in tow…wearing a gold lace trimmed gown that exactly matched the dark purple of his bow tie.

He smiled.

She did not.

Something was terribly wrong. She looked pale and tired and ready to cry. Really, what was Eleanor thinking to drag Blair all over England today when she was clearly feeling unwell?

Chuck's spontaneous grin dissolved into a frown. He wished he were close enough to talk to her, to make certain she would be all right, but an elderly couple—some family connection of Nathaniel's—sat between them. The couple was obviously hard of hearing and practically shouted at each other, making it impossible for him to hear anything said by Blair or her mother.

Chuck politely made small talk with the guests on his other side, painstakingly counting down the minutes until dinner was over and he could speak to Blair privately, even if only on the dance floor.

But it was not to be.

After the dessert plates were cleared and the after-dinner coffee had been enjoyed, the Dowager Duchess announced that dancing would shortly begin in the ballroom to celebrate the last day of the house party…and also some very good news. She gestured, turning the floor over to her son.

The Duke stood up and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable suddenly being in the spotlight. "We are so very pleased you could join us at this important time in our family's history, important because Miss Blair Waldorf has agreed to become my wife, the new Duchess of Archibald."

There was a brief second's pause on the part of his audience and then applause and cheers erupted at the table.

Numbness swept through Chuck as the words buzzed in his ears. A chilling stillness went through his chest. This could not be happening. How could his friend be saying these words about the woman he, Chuck, loved? The woman who had crept into his room and his bed last night? The woman whose ring was even now secured in his coat pocket? The woman who was the other part of himself? His eyes flew to Blair's, silently demanding to know if this was true.

Her eyes were clear but blank in expression and she looked paler than ever. A wave of stark pain flitted over her features before she schooled her face into a thin smile.

It was true then.

Champagne was procured as servants went around filling glasses so that the guests might toast the happy couple. Chuck looked around the company in confusion. How could they all be so happy and carefree when he felt as though he were dying? Surely death would be preferable to this slow, agonizing torture.

How could she have done this?

How could she have given up on them?

His gaze landed on Serena, who had a smile plastered on her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes. He admired her ability to try to look happy about the situation. Her only tells were her sad eyes and her fingers tensely gripping the stem of her champagne glass. God only knew how he looked right now; he certainly didn't want to think about it.

Like a mindless automaton, he raised his glass on cue. The sparkling wine tasted sour on his lips and burned as it went down his throat. It felt like poison, but it wasn't, more's the pity.

He had to get out of there. When the company disbanded to adjourn to the ballroom, he saw his chance and slipped away down the hall. He knew there was a decanter of good scotch in the library. He could go there, be alone. The only thing he could feel right now was an unbearable weight in his chest. He was going to drink until that was as numb as the rest of him and the voices screaming inside his head were silenced. He only hoped there was enough scotch.

With everyone flocked around the Duke and Blair, it would be some time before anyone even noticed he was gone, he thought.

But in that he was wrong. Two pairs of eyes did indeed note his flight: Blair, because she always felt his presence, or lack of, keenly, and Eleanor, who wondered why on their night of triumph, the sight of the young man's stricken face should make her feel almost guilty.

* * *

When Blair awoke the following morning, her first thought was of Chuck. Then she remembered the events of the day before and that she was now engaged to the Duke.

She had been up most of the night, crying. Why? Why could her life not be simpler, not allow her to marry the man that she loved? Women did it every day, even washerwomen from Brooklyn. But there was no point in arguing, in railing against fate. Yesterday had taught her that, if nothing else.

If only she'd been able to speak to him before the announcement was made. She could only imagine what he'd been thinking. Maybe she could speak to him this morning? She rang for Dorota to come help her get dressed.

Now ready to take on the day, she rounded the last bend of the ground floor staircase, she caught sight of him…talking with the Duke…her fiancé. The two friends were conversing as footmen were toting Chuck's bags out to the waiting carriage. He was leaving?

The longtime friends embraced and shook hands before the Duke turned to go into the breakfast room and Chuck exited the front door.

Without thinking, Blair took off at a run after him.

"Chuck, wait!" She caught up to him in the drive in front of main entrance to the Priory. "Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?"

He turned to look at her, and then closed his eyes briefly, as if the sight of her caused him physical pain. What right had she to sound hurt and puzzled by his departure? "What more is there to say…my lady?" Despite the reference to their little game, his tone was cold and his mood impatient.

"Chuck, I love you." She placed a hand on his arm and looked at him with her heart in her eyes. "I will always love you. But I must marry the Duke. I cannot explain why, but it is what I must do." She tried to sound strong, she did, but she feared he could hear the tears in her voice anyway.

"And I shall do what I must. I am going back to Paris to handle some issues that have arisen while Jack and Georgina are on their honeymoon. My father sent word yesterday. I only stayed that I might see you."

The tears that were in her voice now sprang into her eyes.

He deliberately looked away. "Not to worry, I shall be there for our—begging your ladyship's pardon, I mean YOUR—wedding." He gave her an ironic bow and kissed her hand, but it was very formal and cold, completely unlike his usual kisses and caresses.

"Goodbye, my lady," was the last thing he said before turning to get into the carriage.

"Goodbye, Chuck," she whispered, almost choking on the words and knowing he could not hear them. Her hand went to her bodice, where even now the lover's eye brooch was pinned discreetly inside her morning gown.

And then it hit her: the knowledge that this really was their goodbye.

It was over. He was gone from her life.

Theirs was a great love. How could such a love end with a bow and some mocking words?

It was wrong. To ask her to give up her best friend, her lover, her future like this, and without a real goodbye even.

She could not bear it.

She would not.

In that moment, Blair made up her mind what she would do.

* * *

 **Paris, one week later.**

Chuck had just finished his morning coffee and was reading the newspaper and going over some business reports when Arthur gave a discreet cough.

"Mister Charles, sir?"

"Arthur?"

"There is someone here to see you." At Chuck's confused look—who could be calling so early in the day?—he explained, "It is Miss Waldorf."

"Blair? Blair is here?! Now?!" Ladies did not call on gentlemen in their homes—EVER. He immediately pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, wasting no time in heading for the foyer.

And there she was, standing next to a small carpetbag and a battered trunk. She was wearing an enormous hat and a rather rumpled travel suit.

Her face lit up when she saw him and, damn it, he could feel his own do the same. If he had thought the painful events of the last week had perhaps diminished his love for her one iota, he was clearly mistaken, for he would swear that he had never loved her more than he did at this very moment.

"Blair, what's wrong? Are you well?" He solicitously held his hands out to her and she took them eagerly in her own gloved hands and squeezed them.

She nodded. "I must tell you something, Chuck. I must tell you that I am sorry. I am sorry that I did not leave Paris with you. I am sorry that I had to break our engagement. I am sorry that you had to learn that publicly at dinner at the Priory. And I am sorry that I must marry the Duke. I cannot explain my reasons right now, but they are real."

She took a breath before continuing, "I can do this. I can marry him and I can be the perfect duchess for the rest of my life…." Was she trying to convince him or herself? "But only if I can spend the next fortnight with you…as your wife."

"Blair, this is madness. Your mother—."

"Thinks I am shopping for my trousseau with Serena and her grandmother. Obviously, Paris is the only proper place to do so."

"And Serena and Mrs. Rhodes?"

"Think I am in London with Mother."

"What about Dorota?"

"Visiting some cousins on holiday in the city. She was quite giddy about seeing them again."

He looked at her sternly. "I should send you away. You gave me up. You are engaged to my best friend now. Give me one reason I should let you stay."

"I will give you three words, eight letters. I love you, Chuck, and I will always love you. All I am asking is two weeks to be your wife, the way I will always be in my heart. Please?" She looked up at him with beseeching eyes.

And there she was, the woman he adored and desired, standing in front of him with tears in her eyes. Asking of him what he himself wanted most in the world.

It was the height of stupidity, he knew. How could he hope to have this time with her and then give her up again? But how could he deny her anything? How could he deny that he wanted it just as much?

Chuck Bass had never really believed in happiness, then she'd come along and he had dared to dream of it, only to have those hopes dashed. Since then, he'd spent a week of sleepless nights and endless bottles of scotch trying (quite vainly, it seemed) to forget. If he was going to have to live an empty existence for the rest of his life, what was the harm in being happy for two weeks now?

"Arthur?" he called, his eyes still on hers.

She appeared to be holding her breath, waiting for his response.

His manservant appeared all too quickly in the doorway, indicating that he'd possibly been listening at the door. "Yes, Mister Charles?"

"Please send a message to the office that I shall not be in today." His tone indicated that there would be no further explanations given or questions allowed.

"As you wish, sir."

He turned back to Blair when they were alone again. "I have everything I could ever wish for right here."

His lips were on hers and as their kiss grew more passionate, her hat went flying. Neither noticed or cared.

"Shall we go upstairs, Mrs. Bass?"

"I rather think we should, Mr. Bass. It is our honeymoon, after all, and we've shocked poor Arthur enough already this morning." Her laugh rang out and once again Chuck wondered how it was that she could destroy him while at the same time making him happier than he had ever been.

She kissed him again and he was incapable of coherent thought. He could only scoop her into his arms and carry her up the staircase.

They were together and happy.

For now, nothing else mattered.

To Be Continued in Chapter 9

* * *

Author's Note:

Happy Valentine's Day, readers! I confess it is my favorite holiday and has been since I was 4 years old and in preschool. People find that weird, but that's okay—to be honest, people find me weird too.

I must also confess that I'm a bit nervous about your reaction to this chapter. I originally intended to write and publish chapter 9 along with it, as I thought chapter 9 would be perfect for Valentine's Day, but real life and a bunch of obstacles got in my way. I do apologize if recent events in this story have made you sad. They made me sad writing them, but an author's gotta do what an author's gotta do. Keep your faith in Chuck and Blair, and in me.

Speaking of authors, two of my dear friends and beta buddies are now writing Chair fic. If you haven't already read Almaloney33's _Through the Looking Glass_ and chairship's _Unsteady_ , then you are in for a treat. Enjoy!

*sirens and flashing lights*

Me: Officer, what seems to be the trouble here?

Fic Police: We're here to apprehend a fugitive author's note from chapter 7. It appears to have been posted without one. That can't be excused, ma'am. Anything you'd like to tell us about that?

Me: Well, the Eton stuff is real, except the name of The Goat and Thistle—I just like goats…and thistles…and it sounded like a good pub name to me. Eton alumni are called Old Etonians (OEs for short). Some famous OEs include the aforementioned Duke of Wellington, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Aldous Huxley, George Orwell and Ian Fleming. Some more recent OEs are Christopher Lee, Damian Lewis, Tom Hiddleston and Eddie Redmayne…and oh yeah, the Duke of Cambridge and Prince Harry. Yes, it's a prestigious school.

The eye miniature brooch that Chuck gave Blair? Lover's eye brooches are a real thing. did a great article on them and their history. Check it out!

And Archibald Priory is indeed based on a real English country house: Knole House in Kent. Google it if you want to see if you think I described it accurately.

Fic Police: What about this chapter?

Me: I tried to remain true to everything I've read about country houses and house parties. I hope no one feels that Blair cheated in the archery scene; I maintain that she was just exercising a fair advantage. I also hope that readers will appreciate what a huge step it was for Blair to take in visiting Chuck at his Paris home and wanting to stay there with him as his wife. Daring deeds for 1897!

Fic Police: Anything else?

Me: Special thanks to Chrys1130, chairship, Almaloney33 and SnowedUnderNJ for story discussion and beta assistance. Thanks also to my readers, reviewers, favers and followers—I appreciate your support and it means a great deal to me.

Since today is Valentine's Day and my husband is several states away on business, leaving me solo on my favorite holiday for the first time in many years of our relationship, please drop me a note and let me know what you think of this chapter. I would be thrilled to hear from you.

Xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

Last time in the Cageverse: Blair announced her engagement to the Duke of Archibald, but decided the only way she could step into her new role was if she spent a fortnight as Mrs. Charles Bass. Coming up: a Chair honeymoon!

* * *

Chapter 9

"Shall we go upstairs, Mrs. Bass?"

"I rather think we should, Mr. Bass. It is our honeymoon, after all, and we've shocked poor Arthur enough already this morning." Her laugh rang out and once again Chuck wondered how it was that she could destroy him while at the same time making him happier than he had ever been.

She kissed him again and he was incapable of coherent thought. He could only scoop her into his arms and carry her up the staircase.

Up the stairs they ascended, with Chuck's precious burden cradled safely in his strong arms.

To Blair, it felt like she was flying, literally and figuratively. She could not erase the smile that spread across her features, nor stop looking into his eyes and studying his answering smile. Before she knew it, they were at the top of the staircase, down the hall, and across the threshold of his room.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Bass," he murmured against her lips.

And then they were kissing again, lips lingering, tongues dancing, tasting each other and drinking each other in like lost souls that had spent eternity in the desert only to find the most beautiful oasis. As he placed her on the bed, her arms came from around his neck and proceeded to unknot and remove his tie…

It was all happening so very fast…

"Wait, wait," he pleaded, pulling her up into a seated position and over to the edge of the bed. He dropped on one knee and opened a drawer in the bedside table, removing a red leather box with gilt trim and lettering.

Cartier.

"We can't be married without this," he slowly opened the box, revealing the treasure inside.

She gasped. It was beautiful, so perfect it could not be real.

"I had it designed just for you," he almost sounded shy and tears sprang to her eyes. "Blair Cornelia Waldorf, will you be my wife?"

"Yes, oh, yes!" There was a mixture of tears and laughter in her voice.

"Then I, Charles Bartholomew Bass, take you, Blair Cornelia Waldorf, to be my wife from this day forward. To love and to cherish," she began saying the words along with him. "For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. Until-" he broke off, knowing he could not promise forever, only a fortnight.

"Until fate do us part," she whispered, adding the only honest promise they could make to each other.

"Until fate do us part," he repeated in agreement, then set himself to the task of removing her gloves. He peeled them off slowly, kissing her palm then each fingertip in turn. Then he had the ring, her ring now, in his hand, gently sliding it onto the third finger of her left hand. "With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. All my worldly goods I thee endow."

They only paused for the merest of seconds to admire the beauty of it on her hand before diving into each other's arms once more.

He withdrew for a moment and she made a little moue of disappointment before she realized he was unbuttoning her boots, unrolling her stockings, removing her gown…her corset…her chemise and pantalets…dear God, was he never to reach her skin?!

Then she was sitting there before him, wearing nothing but a smile and her magnificent ring.

"Make love to me, Mr. Bass." It was the most seductive of requests and one she would not need to repeat.

"With pleasure."

Before she knew it, she was fully reclined on the bed with Chuck beside her, atop her, raining kisses down on every inch of her silky skin and worshipping her entire body. She let out a soft cry of pleasure.

"You don't have to be quiet, Blair. It is just you and me here. Alone. Together. There is no one to come between us, nor should there be. Please do not be shy with me, sweetheart."

He did not have to tell her twice.

She gave herself up to the tenderness of his touch, the pleasure of his lips and tongue, and she touched, kissed and tasted right back, glorying in everything they did together. He knew exactly where to touch her (his hands slid over every curve, caressing, appreciating), and like some musical virtuoso, he used those hands to bring her the most exquisite pleasure, inciting soft breaths, little mewls, low moans, and finally a crescendo of screams when his fingers stroked those silken folds, that magical place between her thighs that was oh so ready for him.

As she caught her breath, she set herself to the task of unbuttoning his shirt, unclasping his belt and releasing the buttons of his trousers. She fumbled a bit with the silk drawers beneath and then her fingers found what they were seeking and wrapped around his hardness, stroking him softly at first and then with greater pressure.

He let out a low moan and she looked up at him with a beaming smile. It was heady stuff, this power they had over each other, the pleasure each provoked in the other.

One of his hands came down to cup her cheek, to glide down her swan-like neck, to wind in the waves of her hair. When he encountered a hairpin, he removed it…and then another…and another…until her hair came tumbling down over her shoulders, wild and free. The feel of those satiny strands around his fingers…the sensation of her lips and tongue adoring his cock…the sight of his beautiful Blair loving him, in his bed. It was all too much.

He reached again for her hands and pulled her up for another kiss. He was more than ready for this and he knew she was too.

There was no awkwardness or hesitation as he pulled her close and then flipped them over, with him on top, settling between thighs that wrapped around him, pulling him in.

He kissed her then, one hand holding hers, the other preparing to guide himself into her. He squeezed her fingers, loving the feel of the ring on her small hand, the knowledge that they belonged together. It was more than the ring, more than the words they had said, more than the exquisite pleasure they were experiencing at this moment… He knew he would never forget this day as long as he lived.

"I love you, Blair." It was more than mere words; it was a vow, the truest thing he had ever said.

Her fingers squeezed back. "I love you…," her voice trailed off as he entered her, filling her heart as surely as he filled her body. And he was everywhere, inside her body, her mind, her soul. She could taste him on her tongue, smell the faint muskiness of his skin, shiver as his words went through her…straight to her heart.

She looked up at him in awe, only to discover he was sporting a similar expression.

And then he began to thrust inside her.

If she'd been expecting their lovemaking to be like their first time in the carriage, she would have been wrong. It was so, so much better. There was no barrier, no pain, just their bodies entwined, seeking to be as close as possible, as close as their hearts and souls already were.

It was such delicious friction, this exultant feeling of skin on skin. She squeezed her eyes closed tighter, then opened them with a sigh before they wandered to a painting on the wall. A rich, dark sky was illuminated by stars—not the conventional fixed dots of lights one might expect on canvas—these were swirling, soaring, richly alive. As alive as she felt at this moment. Heart racing, blood rushing through her veins, bliss building and building inside her until colors burst behind her eyes and waves of ecstasy washed over her.

He could feel the escalation. Hear her shallow breaths in sync with his own ragged breathing. Savor the feel of their bodies moving together. Her arms sliding under his open shirt, over his chest and his back, her nails digging into him. Her legs pulled him ever closer. He could feel her walls tightening around him and her cries of pleasure were unrestrained. Her bliss was his. Then theirs together, as he followed her, filling her with his essence.

They collapsed into each other, foreheads touching, breaths mingling as they came back to earth.

He rolled onto his back, pulling her up into his arms again, linking their fingers once more. He felt sated, ready to bask in the afterglow.

She was not. In a still shaky voice, she demanded, "Do…That…Again!" And then she kissed him.

He sighed in contentment and deepened their kiss. What else was a gentleman to do?

* * *

Two amazing rounds later, they fell into a peaceful sleep. When he awakened, it was mid-afternoon and Blair was still curled in his arms, naked and dead to the world. He lay there watching her for a while, unable to believe his luck.

It was true, she was really here with him. He still couldn't quite process it.

He wanted nothing more than to lie here with her…for a while, for a day, forever. But things had to be done. With a wince, he recalled that they were on borrowed time and must make the most of every single second. Chuck slid out of the bed, careful lest he wake her, then donned a purple satin robe and rang for Arthur. Plans must be made.

When his manservant arrived, Chuck was waiting in his sitting room with a list of requests. First, he needed Arthur to send a cable to his father in New York saying he would be staying in Paris for two more weeks. As Blair would be staying with them, Arthur would need to engage the services of a lady's maid for her, and Blair's bags must be brought up to his room. If Arthur was shocked by that, he showed no indication. Likewise, when asked to address her as Mrs. Blair this week, the man merely nodded and filed that information away.

Chuck also ordered some croissants, fruit and champagne to be sent up right away. He didn't want anything too heavy, he thought with a smile, as he figured they would be spending the afternoon much the same way as they had the morning. Still, he didn't want his bride collapsing or becoming feverish from lack of sustenance.

His Blair, his bride. God, it sounded like a dream.

When Chuck went back into the bedroom carrying the tray of refreshments Arthur had fetched, he was anxious to surprise her. Yet he was the one surprised. The bed was empty and she was standing in front of the heavy mahogany vanity, brushing her hair. She was wearing one of his satin robes and it kept slipping off her shoulders, revealing creamy slices of skin. Her cheeks were flushed with sleep and from their previous activities. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted in a smile when she saw him.

Instantly, he was beaming back at her in a smile so wide that few if any of his acquaintances would have recognized the expression. No one else had ever seen it. No one else had ever inspired it. Only her. It was frightening how he had no control with her.

In a heartbeat, he set down the tray on a dresser and took both her hands in his, kissing them in turn. His fingers slipped the brush from hers and he began to slowly glide it through her silken strands.

"I am afraid I'm not much of a lady's maid, but I have asked Arthur to find one for you, so you shall not be subject to my poor ministrations for long."

"I rather enjoy your ministrations," she said in a sultry voice, glancing back at him in the vanity mirror.

"I have enough trouble trying to get you out of your clothing. I am completely daunted by the prospect of having to get you into it again. Besides, I know nothing about hairstyling. Even love has its limits," he gave her a little smirk as he said it.

"Does it? Because I feel like I love you more and more every day, if it's even possible to love someone so much."

"You make everything possible. How else could I love you just as much, and want you more than ever?" He put the hairbrush down and slid the smooth fabric off one of her shoulders, trailing kisses across it and up the side of her delicate neck. She sighed and arched back into him, pressing herself closer into his embrace.

"Look," he whispered, as his arms came around her waist and unknotted the robe, this time allowing it to slide to the ground. The triple mirrored panels of the vanity were designed to provide a perfect 360-degree view and her eyes drank in the sight of his hands cupping the swell of her breasts, brushing and teasing the rosy tips of two taut nipples.

Her eyes closed in bliss, then flew open wide when his fingers skimmed her sides, sliding over her hips and squeezing the lush derriere that was flush against his ever hardening cock. Her eyes darkened in an invitation that needed no words and then they silently watched each other's faces in the mirror as their bodies joined once more. It could never be enough.

Wobbly legged, they collapsed on the bed afterwards and, upon catching their breath, began to partake of the champagne and croissants and fruits.

"This is rather like a picnic," Blair laughed, while popping a green grape into Chuck's mouth. "A most unusual picnic, as we are both naked."

"Perhaps not so much," Chuck admitted. "There is a painting by Edouard Manet called _Dejeuner Sur L'Herbe_."

"Luncheon on the grass?"

"Exactly. Have you heard of it?"

"No, I do not believe so." Her nose wrinkled adorably in concentration.

"I don't suppose you would have. It was painted over thirty years ago and was considered quite scandalous."

"What could be scandalous about a picnic?" Her nose wrinkled again.

"The two gentlemen are fully dressed. One of the ladies is bathing in the stream and the other is sitting back, completely nude, beside the men. The food is spread out on a blanket behind them."

"I see. What did you think of this painting?"

"That it showed a shocking lack of appreciation for both the ladies and the luncheon," he smirked.

She laughed and tore off a piece of croissant and tossed it at him.

He deftly caught it mid-air and then fed it to her with his fingers. "Speaking of food, I would like to take you out to dinner tonight."

"Where shall we go?" She was immediately intrigued.

* * *

"Number 3, rue Royale, please, Arthur," Chuck directed later that evening.

"Chuck," Blair demanded, "You must tell me our destination. How am I to anticipate our experience if I am unaware what we will be experiencing?"

He merely smirked. "You will see." But he took the sting out of it with a kiss on her fingertips and taking her hand in his and holding it. "You look very beautiful tonight. Anywhere we go, everyone we meet will be honored just to look at you."

"Shameless flatterer!" She tried to look disapproving, but it was difficult to counteract the roses on her cheeks and the smile on her lips. She knew she looked her best tonight; she had taken great pains to do so. Her first time going out with Chuck alone, without chaperones or masks, sent a thrill through her.

She had selected her newest gown, a sapphire silk creation that was somewhat lower in the bodice than she was accustomed to, with gaining his attention in mind. She had also had her newly acquired lady's maid, a sweet French girl named Aurelie, arrange her hair into a style that showcased the elegant neck she knew he loved.

It had taken forever, as Aurelie was newly arrived from the country and had never served "someone so very grand" before. The maid's nerves made her keep dropping pins and redoing each twist of hair so that it was "just right for Madame Blair." It had begun to try Blair's patience, but even she had to admit it was worth the wait when she saw Chuck's eyes light up as she came down the stairs.

Soon the carriage was pulling up to their destination.

"Maxim's!" Blair exclaimed, upon reading the sign. "Oh, Chuck, I have so wanted to dine here."

Maxim's was the most fashionable eatery in Paris. Opened in 1893 by Maxime Gaillard, a French waiter, it became popular when, just a few days after said opening, courtesan Irma de Montigny had wandered inside, loved the food and proclaimed that she would make it a success. She had made good on her word. The antechamber and bar were crowded this evening and many claimed Maxim's was the only place on the Continent where one could get a decent whisky and soda.

Of course Monsieur Bass and his companion would not be kept waiting. They were seated promptly and Chuck ordered champagne as they perused the menu. It was a selection of soups, close to a dozen entrees, plus salads and decadent desserts. Blair gazed longingly as a server breezed by with a gooey chocolate concoction on his plate.

"I have heard the sole is good," Chuck remarked, not looking up from the menu.

"As have I, but I think I would much prefer the Bass," the corners of her lips turned up in a teasing smile. "Alas, it seems to be missing from the menu."

He looked up then, and smiled back at her. They spoke the same language: Dom Perignon and dry wit. He raised his glass in silent tribute.

After Chuck ordered the roast and Blair did indeed decide on the sole, they fell into companionable silence, Blair's eyes exploring the room.

"The reason I wanted to come here tonight was two-fold," Chuck confided. "First, it is the very first night of our honeymoon, so our dinner should be special, and second, I would like to hear your thoughts on the design of this place."

Her eyes swept over the shaded lamps, the fine linen, the crystal stemware and shining cutlery. "Why so?"

"Because Maxime Gaillard, who founded this place, died a couple of years ago and another family has taken over the restaurant. Rumor has it they will redecorate and make changes. I am curious what changes you would make."

The conversation was interrupted by a woman climbing onto a table nearby. She began singing as her body moved in a sensuous dance.

Blair was shocked. It was one thing to see such entertainments at Moulin Rouge; it was quite another for it to happen seemingly spontaneously at a fine restaurant.

Chuck laughed at her surprise. "There will actually be some cabaret numbers throughout the evening, some entertainment to go along with the dining. I am aiming for something between this and Moulin Rouge for the burlesque club."

"It seems an idea whose time has come," she agreed, scanning the room again and taking it all in. "I like the antechamber and bar," she indicated the entrance. "Perhaps some mirrors to make the area appear brighter and larger?"

"What about the dining area?"

"More color. It's a bit dark now. I am thinking a regal red with elegant appointments, some gilt. Perhaps some stained glass, like Mr. Tiffany's designs? Ornate yet elegant lines. One should feel a bit royal in a place like this."

"Could you sketch me what you see in your head? I consider The Veranda every bit as much your project as it is mine, you know."

"The Veranda? Is that what you will be calling your burlesque club in New York?"

"Yes, named for the very first place I ever kissed you. I want the club to be about escaping to another world. When I kissed you, my whole world changed."

Her hands came up on the table and squeezed his.

"Mine did too. In the best possible way." She looked down at the ring on her finger, and then remembered with a pang that it would only be there for a fortnight. She was marrying the Duke. She would be living in England at Archibald Priory. She would never get to see Chuck's club open, never get to share that experience-or anything else-with him.

So what did she have?

Tonight…and the next two weeks…and she was going to make the most of every single second of it.

* * *

Rather than taking the carriage back, they walked through the streets of Paris, arm in arm, enjoying the temperate night air and each other's company. As they passed by an open air café along the Seine, strains of lively music could be heard and couples were dancing in the moonlight.

Chuck turned to Blair. He could feel, rather than see, her wistful expression. He took her by the hand, "I believe we have time for a dance, haven't we?"

It was all the encouragement she needed. One dance turned into several, as curious eyes landed on the elegant couple and could not look away. The pair looked to be in their own happy world and no one was very surprised when they later slipped away, his arm around her waist and the look of love in their eyes.

* * *

He was the middle of the most wonderful dream. He was warm, so warm, and enveloped in a myriad of texture. Flowing satin curled around his face. Supple silk and rich velvet embraced him. Even the air was redolent with a seductive scent…rose, jasmine and a faint musk. It was in the air, in his nose, in the pores of his skin.

He felt light. Happy. Loved.

A sudden stirring caused his world to shift and his eyes to open. And then everything he'd felt in the dream paled in comparison. His arms were wrapped around a very naked and very sleepy Blair. The curling satin ribbon was her hair. The rich, smooth fabric was her skin. And that delicious aroma? All her. His whole world was in that bed, and he never wanted to leave it.

Involuntarily, he pulled her closer against him and her eyelids fluttered open. She smiled up at him and he was unable to resist kissing those lips.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bass." The whispered words in her ear sent a shiver through her whole body. "I had the most wonderful dream…."

"Mm, I think I had the same dream. And every time I woke up, reality was even better." Eager fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him for another kiss.

He loved that she wasn't shy with him, that she felt free to express her desire…to him, with him, for him. He was never getting out of this bed.

But eventually duty called, in the form of a discreet knock from Arthur, who was bearing a tray of fresh croissants with strong coffee for Chuck and a fragrant tea for Blair. They enjoyed their light breakfast in bed while discussing the day.

"Must you really go into the office today?" There was just a suggestion of a pout in her words and on her lips.

"I am afraid I must, but you must also get fitted for your trousseau, so we shall both be occupied today. Tomorrow I have business here in the city, then I am planning to go to Normandy in the afternoon. I was thinking you could come with me and we would stop at Giverny and visit Monsieur Monet on the return trip."

"The artist? I would adore that! I am already counting down the minutes until we leave."

"I am already counting down the minutes until I can come back home to you!" He swept her into his arms for one last morning kiss before work.

* * *

For a man who'd once sworn he would never embrace the institution of marriage, Chuck Bass was turning out to be quite the aficionado. Making love was wonderful, of course, but he also loved sleeping with Blair, waking with Blair, dining and talking with Blair. They'd spent a quiet evening together the night before—well, perhaps not so quiet once they were upstairs alone—and it had been heavenly. Even the simple act of kissing her goodbye before leaving for the business meeting this morning gave him a kind of elated contentment. He'd never dreamed it could be like this.

For her part, Blair was overjoyed with their living arrangements as well. She'd spent most of the day yesterday at Worth's, being fitted and measured for her trousseau. For a while she'd allowed herself the fantasy that she was really marrying Chuck and she delighted in choosing styles and colors that she felt would impress him. The fabrics, chosen by her mother, had already been sent over from Waldorf Textiles. The shopgirls and seamstresses clustered around her as she made her selections, exclaiming what a beautiful bride Mademoiselle would be and how happy she would be as the Duchess. Blair's face fell, knowing that no title, no ancestral home, no social position could ever make her truly happy now. Nothing could ever touch what she shared with Chuck.

Much as she'd tried to shake it off, a touch of sadness still lingered. But she would not let it ruin this precious time. When Chuck left for his meeting the following morning, Blair came downstairs and ensconced herself in the library. She knew just what to do to keep herself busy. In the desk drawers, she found plain paper and graphite pencils, but no chalk or colored pencils. She rang for Arthur who promised Mrs. Blair that some would be procured as quickly as possible. The novelty of being called Mrs. Blair made her smile every time Arthur said the words.

While she waited, Blair took the time to explore the room, spinning the globe in its wooden stand, touching the crystal decanter of scotch, playing with the fountain pens and stationery supplies. Impulsively, she took one of the pens and a sheet of paper and wrote those all-important 3 words, 8 letters on a sheet of vellum, folding it and placing it in the top drawer for Chuck to find at a later time.

Then she began to sketch her vision of what the interior of The Veranda should look like. She began with bold strokes, outlining the mirrored antechamber and bar, then focusing on the main dining room. Sparkling chandeliers provided glittering light. Lamps on each table provided more intimate lighting. Mirrors and objets d'art in the Art Nouveau style that was all the rage now provided ambience. For the ceiling, Blair chose stained glass in a style she'd seen at Tiffany's. By the time Arthur returned with her chalk and colored pencils, all that was left to do was to add color and shading to her work.

She sat back and assessed it with a critical eye, making minute adjustments and adding detail. Only then did she feel that her project was finished. She only hoped that Chuck liked her design. She'd never done anything like this before, but if Chuck believed she could do it, she would try to justify his confidence in her. She might not be able to witness the club's opening and growth, but this way she was leaving a small piece of herself in Chuck's life, a reminder of their working together as a team.

There was another reminder she wanted to leave for him as well. She rang for Arthur again, this time requesting a small hand mirror. If Arthur found her requests odd or demanding, he never showed it. Blair was glad that Chuck had someone like that in his life, someone who would care for him and look out for him, as Dorota did for her.

When the mirror was delivered to her, she propped it against the shaded banker's lamp and studied her face with a sigh. Faces were always so challenging to capture. She pulled on her bodice a bit and looked down at the lover's eye brooch Chuck had given her at the Priory, just to check the dimensions and proportions.

Glancing between the mirror and the vellum sheet, she began to sketch her eye. It proved far more difficult than the club design. Did she have the perspective right? Was there depth to the eyelid? Was the iris the right shade? Her eyes were so very dark. Perhaps it would've been easier to draw Chuck's ever-changing ones? Were the lines around the eyes and the lashes accurate? And most important, did her drawing depict the love that shined in her eyes when she looked at him? At last she was finished, finding perhaps not quite satisfaction with her work, but certainly a compromise between her desired goal and her level of skill.

She put the club drawings in the top drawer of the desk and took the eye miniature upstairs with her, along with a pair of scissors. She went through her jewelry until she found what she was looking for: a bronze locket that was fairly plain in design. She slid the chain off the locket, and trimmed the eye miniature down until it fit inside the locket. It would make a nice watch fob for Chuck. Now they would have a pair of eye miniatures, just as the Prince and Maria Fitzherbert did. She just had to find the right time to give it to him.

* * *

The train ride out to Normandy was fairly short, as Giverny was about fifty miles outside Paris where the river Epte joins the Seine. The sun was shining and only a faint smattering of clouds hung in the cerulean sky. Chuck was pleased his business had gone well that morning and the couple was excited to be on their first side trip together.

When they got off the train, Chuck took Blair to a little inn for their luncheon. "I think the food here will please you," he remarked, and oh, how right he was! They sampled brioche bread paired with baked Camembert cheese that was seasoned with rosemary, pepper, salt and a regional apple brandy known as Calvados.

As the gooey concoction melted on her tongue, Blair let out an appreciative "Mmmm…."

"I am beginning to fear that you will compare me with this cheese and I will come up lacking," Chuck grumbled.

"Hardly," she grinned. "But if the thought of competition inspires you…."

"You inspire me," he kissed the tips of her fingers and her smile widened.

The serving maid brought out platters of freshly caught seafood: oyster, mussels and turbot. They had been sautéed in butter and were served with seasoned potatoes.

"What, no bass?" Blair joked under her breath.

The maid overheard and said that while bass was common, none had been caught that morning.

They graciously thanked her and when she had left, Blair squeezed his hand. "No Bass again. I am lucky to have my own."

They enjoyed their meal and then lingered, sharing an Apple Tart Normande and glasses of Calvados brandy.

"This place could inspire chefs!" Blair declared. "My mother would kill me if she knew how much I have just eaten. She always says I should watch my figure more closely."

Chuck frowned at the mention of Eleanor, before running an admiring gaze over Blair's form. "Why don't you leave watching your figure to me? I will be happy to reassure your mother that it is always a worthy view."

Her laughter was his reward.

Chuck rented a cart and horse to drive to Monsieur Monet's home and studio. Although he seldom drove, he enjoyed it today, as he did watching Blair's face as she took in all the sights, marveling at the green of the trees and plants and the tranquil water of the river. "Do you like it?"

"It's like paradise," she sighed.

Claude Monet had discovered Giverny looking out a train window in 1883. He made up his mind to rent a house there and did, eventually purchasing the home and its grounds seven years later. It proved to be a tremendous joy and boon to his work, as it came to inspire some of his most famous paintings.

Blair enjoyed meeting the tall, stately, bearded artist. It seemed only right to her that someone with such keen eyes should become an artist. She enjoyed touring his studio and seeing his works, but she was perhaps most impressed by his gardens. Monet designed and cultivated them himself and Blair considered them to be the equal of his paintings, simply created in a living medium. The Japanese bridge that spanned the river showed off the water lilies, azaleas and wisteria that had already begun appearing on his canvases. It was as though Monet created the art twice, once in the planting and again in the painting.

As Chuck and M. Monet tarried, discussing what paintings Chuck would be purchasing, Blair strolled ahead, enjoying the warm day and the sunlight that seemed determined to find her, despite her parasol. As she made her way across the bridge, a sudden gust of wind pulled at the parasol and Blair fought to keep her grip. She laughed, causing both men to look at her. She was the picture of joy: backlit by the sun, flowers growing around her feet, wisps of hair tossed by the wind, wide smile on her face.

"She is lovely," M. Monet remarked to Chuck. "I should like to paint her just as she is now. I used to paint my Camille like that," he referred to the late Madame Monet. "I feel it was some of my best work."

"Should you feel inspired, I would be very glad to purchase such a work."

Monet laughed, "Oh, Charles, you see that beauty every day. Is that not enough?"

"I never wish to forget." Chuck's eyes were still on Blair as he said it. The statement seemed cryptic and more than a little sad to his artist friend.

* * *

It was late afternoon when they set off back to the train station. Chuck had ordered two paintings with the promise to purchase a third that Blair was delighted to learn she had inspired. She adored Monet and his work and was happy to chat about it as they drove.

Suddenly, despite the sunshine, a rain drop fell.

Then another. And another. And the sky clouded over and quickly grew dark.

It began to rain in earnest.

Chuck and Blair looked at each other in consternation, and then around at the landscape that was becoming obscured by sheets of falling rain.

They saw it at the same time. The barn was dun-colored stone with a thatched roof and was outlying enough that it could have been abandoned.

Blair prayed that the door would open and, miracle of miracles, Chuck got it to do so. He got back on the seat and drove the cart inside and out of the elements. The barn must still be in use, for storage if nothing else. Several of the stalls were filled, some with grain and some with apples. Chuck helped Blair down from the seat and then set about attending to their horse. There was no tack room, but he was able to locate a couple of burlap sacks, which he used to wipe down their equine companion before feeding an apple to the gray mare.

"This is not how I envisioned the last leg of our trip today," Chuck confessed. He noticed Blair was shivering in her damp clothes. "Come, let's get you warm." He slipped off his coat and tenderly wrapped it around her shoulders, looking around to see if anything else could provide some comfort. "It looks like there's hay in the loft. Can you climb up there?"

"Are you doubting my stealthy abilities, Bass?" Despite the chill and discomfort, Blair's sense of humor and adventure were still intact.

"I would never," he gallantly vowed. "After you, my lady," he gestured to a somewhat rickety wooden ladder.

Despite her sodden skirts, Blair managed to nimbly ascend the ladder, cautioning Chuck, "And don't you dare peep up my skirts!"

"What else is a poor stable boy to do when faced with the temptation of a pair of pretty ankles?" Chuck tried to sound innocent, but failed miserably.

With a laugh they reached the loft and Chuck spread fresh hay before they sat down. He pulled Blair close to him, tightening his coat around her. "Are you comfortable, sweetheart? I realize this isn't the silk sheets we are accustomed to." His nose wrinkled a bit at the earthy scent of the hay.

"Well, you did say we were going on an adventure today. Where else would one go with a stable boy?" She laughed as she began to peel off her damp gloves.

"Allow me, my lady." His fingers took over, gently tugging the cotton glove down her palm and releasing each finger in turn. He brought them to his lips, warming each with the warmth of his breath and his lips.

She gasped.

"He is the luckiest man on earth that she even walked into his stable," he whispered the words against the ear and she shivered again, but not from the cold this time.

"Kiss me, boy," she demanded imperiously, gripping his lapels and pulling him ever closer.

It started slow, a brief brushing of their lips and mingling of their breaths, then grew deeper with tongues dancing and mouths exploring.

God, he could kiss her all day and all night and never ever stop….

She pushed him back into the hay, landing happily atop him and knocking the breath out of both of them.

"Methinks my lady would like a different kind of ride this afternoon."

"Mmm," she agreed, "So take me, boy."

He looked up at her then, face glowing, damp locks curling and wild, and was completely bewitched. Chuck Bass, who'd sampled earthly delights on several continents, decided that the most erotic sight in the world was a damp and rumpled Blair Waldorf in a hay loft with rain falling on the roof of a barn in the middle of the French countryside.

"I am ever your willing slave." He began removing her garments as she did the same for him. Impatient fingers worked quickly, as he kept whispering that she was beautiful, amazing and perfect.

He flipped her over then, neither caring that the loft floor was hard and the hay uneven. They were completely engrossed in each other.

Then came the moment when he entered her. For him, it would always be a magic moment. It was so much more than their physically coming together. He felt humbled that this beautiful-amazing-perfect woman was his, that he alone was her lover, joined with her as closely as he could be. Yet he also felt like a god. He was the one responsible for her little gasps, the sounds of pleasure she made. He was making those kiss-swollen lips turn up in a smile. He was bringing that star-dazed look to her eyes.

She was his, as he was hers.

They moved with each other, against each other. It was more than an outburst of passion, more than an expression of love. Their coming together was an elemental need that required fulfillment, like the ocean tide returning to the beach again and again. They could not escape, nor did they wish to. Even after the white-hot rush of their release had passed, they lay tangled together, hands and bodies intertwined, content with the silence that was only interrupted by a whispered 3 words, 8 letters.

It was some time later when they finally stirred and realized that the rain had stopped.

"Chuck, what happened to my hat?" Blair asked in an unsteady voice.

Neither of them had any clue.

* * *

They got back too late to catch the final train back to Paris and were forced to stay at the inn overnight. Of course, neither complained about the prospect of a supper that was every bit as delicious as their luncheon had been. "All great chefs should visit this region," Blair declared with a dreamy sigh.

Returning to Paris was like coming home. While Chuck worked in the Bass offices, Blair finalized the order for her trousseau and explored more of the library. She perused the latest titles by Oscar Wilde, Henry James and Arthur Conan Doyle, but nothing was catching her interest. Finally, she picked up a volume of poems by Emily Dickinson. She leafed through the book, pausing to read a poem here or there. Then one in particular caught her eye:

 _Wild nights—wild nights—were I with thee. Wild nights should be our luxury!_

She smiled, remembering all the wild nights she had spent with Chuck this week.

 _Rowing in Eden—Ah—the Sea! Might I but moor—tonight—in thee!_

It was the perfect metaphor, she thought with a blush, for passionate longing. And speaking of passionate longing, she was oh so eager for Chuck to return home.

When he did arrive, she was oh so eager to go upstairs…

Then, during their own interlude in Eden, she wanted time to stand still. Their time together was flying by and she couldn't bear the thought of it ending. If only she could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

Chuck put on his robe and handed Blair's to her. He lay down beside her, winded. "You're amazing," he breathed. "That thing you do…with your tongue. How the same instrument that can wreak total social destruction can cause such bliss…."

She laughed and gave him her naughtiest smile. "You are a very good teacher, you know."

It was a light, saucy comment, no different than their usual flirtatious banter. But his eyes darkened and a shadow crossed his features.

All at once, even though he hadn't moved a muscle, she felt as if he were very far away.

"Chuck?!" she took his hand in hers. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Don't you see, Blair? I don't want be your teacher." There was fury in his voice. "I don't want to school you for some other man. Even if that man happens to be my oldest, dearest friend. Maybe especially then."

She drew back in surprise.

"I want to be your husband. Not just for two weeks. Forever. Until we are old and gray, and then I want it carved on my tombstone."

He took her hands in his and kissed each in turn.

"Don't marry him. I know we said we would not talk of this. I know I am asking you to break your word," he paused for breath. "No, I am not asking; I am begging you. Chuck Bass does not beg, but I am not Chuck Bass without you. When you walk down that aisle, it should be me waiting for you at the altar, and you know it."

She knew he meant every word, but she had to make him stop.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" she implored. "Knowing I will have to leave you, that I will miss your club opening, miss all the milestones of your life. I will have to watch you marry too one day, and know that someone else will share your life and have your children and…and…." The tears rose up in her throat and stole her voice.

"That will never happen," he said coldly. "I shall never marry anyone else, because I am already married to you-in my heart, if not in the eyes of God and man."

"But the business…children!" she sputtered.

"The business can go hang. Father can leave it to Jack and Georgina's family. They will doubtless have children, horrendous brats though they are sure to be."

At another time, she would've smiled at his prediction.

He let go of her hands and stood up. "So that is that."

She stood up as well. "I still believe you will find someone who loves you…and when you do, it will break my heart."

"I have," he gently reminded her. "She's standing right in front of me. My whole life…," he struggled to find the words, "I never believed anyone would love me, that I could love anyone in return."

"But the Duke-?"

"Has been like a brother to me, but you see what I have done to him. I am even now begging his fiancée to leave him and be mine. Most people would call that a very poor sort of love."

"Your father-"

"Tolerates me, for the sake of his own legacy. At first he despised me because it's said I look just like my mother."

She traced the outline of the face she loved so well as he said it, her fingers smoothing a dark brow, following the contour of his cheekbone and finally cupping the proud line of his jaw.

"Later he found his own reasons to treat me with disdain. The only reason we will be working together in New York is because you arranged it. Every good thing in my life, Blair, comes from you."

"Chuck, I love—"

"Please don't say it…unless you can say that 1 word, 3 letters that will make all the difference. Perhaps I am fool to ask for more…but…we have been happy this week, haven't we?"

The question broke her heart. "How can you ask that? I never dreamed I could be as happy as I am with you. The thought of that ending…."

"Then don't let it end. Stay with me, Blair, and be my wife, for now and forever. I can't give you an ancestral castle that's been in my family for centuries; my grandparents lived in a small house in the City of Brooklyn and it was all they could do to get my father sent to school. I can't give you a title either. No one will curtsy to Mrs. Bass, but I guarantee you that her husband will worship the ground she walks upon. I will share every single thing I own in this world with you and I will make you happy, even if it takes me the rest of my life."

"I don't care about any of those things. I have you, Chuck, that's all I need."

As welcome as those words were, he still needed more from her. He raised her left hand up and held it in his, so that they could both see the ring that sparkled on her third finger.

"Blair, will you please be my wife? Forsaking all others, for as long as we both shall live?" The look on his face beseeched her as much as his words did.

She had said once that even if he asked her a thousand times, her answer would always be yes.

Her heart was screaming yes, but her head knew the reasons she had to say no.

She could not speak. She stood, frozen and still, as two tears welled and rolled down her face.

He swallowed and let go of her hands. Then he turned and walked out the bedroom door, slamming it in his wake.

The sound reverberated through the whole house, but Blair could not hear it over the sound of her own sobs.

To Be Continued in Chapter 10

* * *

Author's Note: Please don't hate me! This is not the end of the story; it's not even the end of their honeymoon or even this discussion. And in my defense, I cried while I was writing it.

This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Shrk22, for her unfailing support and all-around wonderfulness. Her kind words have also been known to make me cry, but for a happy reason.

*sirens and flashing lights*

Me: You again, Officer?

Fic Police: Naturally, ma'am. You keep me busy.

Me: What is it this time? I only quoted Emily Dickinson and it's my favorite ED poem, so I think that can be excused.

Fic Police: You do realize it's been a month since your last update on this story.

Me: I do feel terrible about the delay and will try to be sure it doesn't take quite this long again.

Fic Police: We'll let you off with a warning this time. Any info for your readers?

Me: The scent Chuck smells in his 'dream' is the base scent of Chanel No. 5, which actually wasn't invented and released until 1921. In the Cageverse, Blair does not smell like the perfume, the perfume will one day smell like Blair. The history of Maxim's restaurant is accurate, and Blair's drawings and ideas are based on the real thing. You can find more info on the lover's eye jewelry at a site called the Salon. Monet was indeed an impressive gardener, with a strong interest in botany as well as art. His painting of Blair is based on his 1886 work _Woman with a Parasol Turned to the Right._ Monet did several versions of this woman-with-umbrella painting over the years, but I think this one most closely resembles Blair. Normandy does have a world-famous cuisine and one of the chefs it inspired was Julia Child.

Fic Police: Anything else?

Me: A happy belated birthday to CarolinaGirlGG (hugs!) and special thanks to guest reviewer Alisha—I appreciate your kind words and that you are such a fast reader! Perpetual gratitude to Chrys1130, who listens to me ramble ad nauseam about this story, and Almaloney33 and chairship for beta assistance. Chairship is remarkable in that she can find typos I missed even after the fourth reading.

Last, but certainly not least: Thank YOU, dear reader, for continuing on this journey with me and Chuck and Blair. Let me know your thoughts on this latest installment.

Until next time, xoxo….


	10. Chapter 10

Last time in the Cageverse: Chuck and Blair were blissfully happy on their faux honeymoon, until Chuck asked Blair to become his wife in reality. She couldn't say yes, and he stormed out of their room.

* * *

Chapter 10

Blair lay there on the bed, sobbing until there were no tears left. If only she could make him see, make him understand why she could not be his wife in truth.

How much time passed, she could not have said, but eventually a quiet clarity stole over her. She had to make this right. She couldn't waste another second of their time together. With that in mind, she rose and dressed in her new peignoir from Worth's. It had just been delivered that afternoon and Chuck had not yet seen it. It was stunning, made of the finest midnight silk that draped softly down her body and pooled at her feet in a slight train. Embroidered circles emblazoned the neck and bodice of the gown, trailing down the open front. There was no belt. Sheer panels with a flocked scrollwork design accented the upper back and sides of the robe, as well as the short sleeves. The effect was dramatic, breathtaking…and just a little racy.

Then she splashed her poor swollen eyes with water from basin and brushed her hair until it shone. With a final glance into the pier glass, she determined she was ready.

It was dim in the hall with only a few gaslights illuminating the staircase. Blair took her time, careful not to trip over the flowing silk hem. She would find him and talk to him…provided he was still in the house.

As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she heard the faint strains of music. She followed the beautiful notes into the parlor and there was Chuck, seated at the baby grand, playing Beethoven with such verve and style that the composer himself would have been impressed.

He stopped playing when he looked up and saw her standing there.

"Don't stop," she implored. "Your playing is beautiful. I had no idea you were so skilled. However did you listen to my amateur tickling of the keys?"

"I loved listening to you play. I did not love that there was an entire company of eligible bachelors in Mrs. Rhodes' parlor doing the same," he ground out.

She laughed and sat down beside him on the piano bench. "How did I not know you play, and that you play like you do?"

"I do not play often. We don't even have a piano at our place in New York."

"Why ever not?" That someone should play so well but have such little opportunity to do so saddened her.

"We had a piano once, when I was very young. It was my mother's piano. When I started tapping at the keys and eventually playing songs, my father could not bear it. He sold it and bought some bronze statuary instead."

"You are self-taught?" Her admiration deepened.

"At first," he admitted. "Later, I took some music classes at school."

"But you play with such passion and understanding of the music. That is something which cannot be taught."

"Mmm," his reply was noncommittal.

She put her hand on his sleeve. "Chuck, please don't let us quarrel anymore. I cannot bear for you to be angry with me." There were tears in her eyes.

"And I cannot bear to be your temporary lover when I want to be your husband," he bit the words out. "Always. Forever. Why can't you give us that, Blair?"

"I—I…." The lump in her throat made it hard for Blair to speak.

"I love you. I thought you loved me too. I have never loved anyone before now. Perhaps I am mistaken in your feelings?"

She sighed. "Believe me, Chuck, if there were any way possible…I would never leave you. I love you, and I will always be your family…in my heart. But I cannot marry you." Her voice broke.

"But why? Tell me, Blair. Surely you owe me that much," he argued.

She fumbled, so overwhelmed that she didn't know where to begin. "I do not even know how to put it into words."

"Try," he begged.

"I will have to show you. Tomorrow, if you can be spared, I will take you and you will see. But it will break your heart as surely as it has broken mine," she warned.

"I fail to see how my heart could be any more broken than by the silence and the tears when I asked you to be my wife again tonight." Was he speaking to her or to himself?

"Oh, my darling, if you only knew how very much I wish I could say yes. That is why this time we have is so precious. Please, dearest, can't we just go back to being Chuck and Blair…Blair and Chuck?" She took both his hands in hers as she pleaded.

He silently sat staring at the keys.

She could see he was going to make her work for it, and time was not something she had. She was prepared to beg. "Please?" She used her most persuasive tone of voice.

He started playing again, Chopin this time, so he wouldn't have to face the temptation.

Time to make her proposition even more tempting. "You do realize this is our very first fight?" She gave him her sunniest smile.

He played on.

"And I hate it. It makes me feel all sick inside. All tense. Especially right here," she pushed her hair over her shoulder, revealing the tender, pale column of her neck. Her fingers came up to massage away the tension that had built up there. She gave a low moan.

His eyes were drawn to that beloved spot and for the merest fraction of a second, he stopped playing.

She moved closer to him and crossed her legs, which caused the peignoir to gape and exposed a delicate ankle and shapely calf to his view.

He could almost see part of the silky expanse of her thigh and the sight of that creamy, seductive skin was driving him mad. It didn't matter that they'd already made love that evening. Once was never, ever enough, not where she was concerned.

He stopped playing.

"You are not playing fair," he accused. "You know I cannot deny you anything." He pulled her close, breathing in the scent of her skin and glorying in the silkiness of her gown and flowing hair. "Especially when you are dressed like this," he ran a hand over the delicate fabric and heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Do you like it?" She sounded happy again then, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than for her to keep on being so. "I ordered it in the hope of pleasing you."

He pulled her to her feet. "Oh, it most certainly pleases me. It makes me want to do this." Without warning, he picked her up and deposited her on the lid of the piano, allowing the robe to fall open and away, exposing her graceful neck to his kisses.

The combination of her sudden elevation and the whoosh of cool air that came into the negligee and the feel of his lips and tongue grazing, nuzzling, worshipping her nape was too much. She gave a breathless giggle and wrapped her legs around him to steady herself.

"Chuck?" came her shaky whisper a few moments later.

"Hmm?" He sounded blissfully preoccupied.

"Take me upstairs and make love to me again," she pulled him even closer.

He picked her up and mounted the staircase, her legs still wrapped around his waist and her voice still whispering in his ear.

They were together again, as they should always be.

* * *

Chuck awakened the following morning feeling optimistic. He and Blair were together, and today he would find out why she believed they could not be permanently. Now he would learn what he was up against; it was hard to fight a shadow. And he was prepared to fight. Alone, he and Blair were formidable opponents. Together, they were unstoppable, unbeatable, inevitable.

He rushed through the breakfast Arthur brought up for them and fretted while waiting for the maid to finish helping Blair make her toilette. Then his patience was sorely tried when Blair rang for Arthur to deliver a message for her. She wouldn't even tell Chuck the identity of the recipient. It was all very mysterious…and time-consuming.

Finally, they were dressed and in the carriage. "Where to, Mrs. Bass?" he inquired, kissing her hand. At last Chuck was going to be getting the first clue!

"I am going to take you where my mother took me that day—well, the Paris counterparts, that is. First stop is the showroom of Waldorf Textiles."

It was but a short trip to the business district of the city and they soon pulled up outside a relatively modest looking shop with a striped awning and a tasteful sign with fancy gold letters reading Waldorf Textiles, Fine Fabrics & High Quality Cloth Goods.

Though it was still fairly early in the day, the shop was already bustling with activity. Still, Blair's arrival was noticed and recognized by the employees with a warm welcome for their employer's daughter. There were nods and smiles and Chuck was pleased to see that the workers were clearly fond of his Blair.

Blair led him around the shop, past row upon row of bolts of every material one could possibly imagine: silk, linen, muslin, cotton, twill, velvet. The array of textures and colors was staggering; it was a virtual rainbow of fabric selections. He paused by a length of patterned purple damask.

"Do you make and sell any kind of garments or finished products?" He really would like a waistcoat in that fabric.

"No, we never have. We do sell to private citizens, and to seamstresses, tailors, upholsterers, anyone who needs fabric for their wares. When we lost my father, my mother was at loose ends for a time. Then a friend needed some special silk for a wedding gown and my mother helped her find an imports dealer who could provide it. She was grateful, and she called upon my mother for help again, then she told all her friends. My mother saw that she had an opportunity here, that people would pay, and pay well, to find just the right fabric. She started with one store in New York. Now there are branches here in Paris and also in London.

"It is very impressive." Chuck had never before contemplated the source of the material for his garments or upholstery, but he could see that it was something for which demand would be consistent, and new opportunities would be available all the time. The growing popularity of catalogs, such as Montgomery Ward and Sears, Roebuck & Co., showed that new avenues for shopping were creating new customers and even more business. Oh, yes, there was certainly growth potential in the field.

"You should see all the activity at the warehouse down by the docks. It is a veritable hive. It will certainly be hard for my mother to give this all up," Blair's voice interrupted Chuck's contemplation as they exited the shop.

"Give it up? Why would she be giving it up?" He was completely confused as to why anyone would abandon a clearly thriving enterprise.

"She is selling the business…," Blair stated quietly. "To pay my dowry."

"But that's foolish!" Chuck argued, before her words fully sank in. He knew how the game was played. Many American heiresses had married into the English aristocracy in recent years, earning themselves the moniker of Dollar Princesses, for it was their large dowries that provided the real love in those love matches. You played the hand you were given. For impoverished Englishmen, it was their titles and estates; for American debutantes, it was their family's wealth. "Cash for class," some said. In Blair's case, it seemed entirely unnecessary.

"Blair, I don't need your dowry. I just need you. You don't have to sacrifice yourself for a title and some drafty old pile of bricks in Kent," he argued.

She smiled sadly at him and squeezed his hand. "I know, dearest, but my mother would be selling in any case. Remember how I told you that she fainted when I refused to go to England with her? I thought she was malingering for my sympathy," Blair swallowed, "but it turns out she really is ill. She has a heart complaint and the pressures of running a business of this scale are too much for her now."

"But you could run the business! Have you considered that?"

She sighed. "Of course I have, Chuck. It was the very first thing I suggested when she told me of her illness. But, as she pointed out, I know nothing about running a business."

"You are the smartest and most powerful woman I know. You could learn. I could help you. We could run it together as part of Bass Enterprises." His faith in her, in them, was unshakable.

"She says that she worked too hard and too long to make Waldorf Textiles a success, only to endanger it and the livelihoods of those who work for us. She believes the experiment would be too much of a risk."

"How is it less of a risk to sell to some unknown buyer who could do heaven knows what with the business and the employees?"

"I have made all these arguments. Several times over, in fact. She will not budge. She does not want me to become a businesswoman. She wants me to become a society hostess and a wife and mother." She made it sound like the most dreadful of curses.

"Why can you not do all of those things? What is most important is that you are doing what you want. What will make you happy, Blair?"

Blair just looked at him with sad dark eyes.

"I simply do not understand why you should not marry me. You would never want for anything, Blair. Surely your mother must see that?"

"Chuck, I can think of nothing better than becoming Mrs. Bass, but my mother believes if I marry a wealthy man, then that is all I will ever be: a wealthy man's wife. She thinks that by marrying someone titled that I will gain influence and power in my own right." Blair herself sounded dubious.

Chuck openly scoffed. "If she cannot see that you are already a woman of power and influence, then she is an idiot!"

Blair smiled in spite of herself. "There is another reason she wants me to go to England," she said cryptically.

Chuck couldn't wait to hear what this was!

* * *

"Where are we headed now?" Chuck asked, as their carriage left the city limits.

"To a little vineyard not far from here. I have never been there, but I would like you to meet the owner."

Things were just getting curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would have said.

Eventually they arrived at a small stone farmhouse, surrounded by acres of grape arbors. They were shown into a parlor, where they waited for the owner to appear. Chuck noticed that Blair looked excited but nervous. He squeezed her gloved hand, and was about to say something reassuring when the door opened and a gentleman walked inside.

He was middle-aged, with still dark hair, snapping dark eyes and a charming manner. And to Chuck's surprise, he was American!

"Blair-bear! Oh, my darling, I am so very glad to see you again!" He kissed her on both cheeks before enfolding her in an expansive hug. "I was thrilled to get your message this morning."

Her face lit up. "As I am overjoyed to see you! I have brought someone I want you to meet. This is Mr. Charles Bass," she stepped aside as the two men shook hands. "And Chuck, this is my father, Harold Waldorf."

 _Her what?!_ Chuck had always believed Blair's father to be deceased. No one in the family ever spoke of him, nor did anyone in society. Just that very morning Blair herself had mentioned the loss of her father. Now it appeared that he was not so much lost as misplaced.

They were interrupted by another dark gentleman coming into the room. This one was a very handsome and charming Frenchman. "Harold, mon cher, I have a question about the vines in the south field."

Suddenly Chuck understood. Harold Waldorf had not left his wife and daughter for the great beyond; he'd left the Waldorf women for this man standing in front of them. And to Eleanor Waldorf, death would have been the preferred exit, so that was the story she was telling.

"Roman!" Harold beamed, "Come meet my daughter and her friend."

This was followed by another round of cheek kissing, hand shaking and a pleasant lunch eaten al fresco on the terrace. The couple showed them around the property, describing with pride how everything worked. It was obviously a successful venture, though certainly quite a step down from a high society life on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

Chuck enjoyed sitting back and watching Blair interact with her father, listening to her chat and laugh. It was a night and day difference from her relationship with her mother. It only strengthened his belief that she should always be happy. He never wanted to see that smile leave her face.

Still, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, signifying the approach of evening, Blair's conversation grew less animated and a slight wistfulness crept into her expression. "We shall have to go soon, I am afraid. It has been so wonderful to spend time with you again."

"Oh, Blair-bear, I feel the same. Our doors are always open to you. You are welcome anytime, both of you," Harold spared a smile for Chuck.

"That is very kind of you, sir. We have enjoyed our afternoon here with you and Roman. You are gracious hosts," he rose to shake the men's hands.

Harold gave him a discerning look. "Please look after my daughter, Mr. Bass. I am happy with my life here, but not being able to be in her life is my one regret."

"Please call me Chuck, sir," he was quick to respond. "Blair's happiness is all I care about. No matter where life takes us, I shall be at her side at a moment's notice, should she need me."

It seemed a rather odd thing to say, and Harold saw the sadness in the younger man's eyes as they met his daughter's tear-filled gaze. Clearly there was some heartbreak here, but in the flurry of goodbyes he was unable to investigate further.

As the coach drew away from the house, Roman turned to Harold with a smile. "They are so much in love."

"Yes." The corners of Harold's mouth turned down as he remembered the announcement he'd read just last week about the Duke of Archibald's engagement to Miss Blair Waldorf. "I'm very much afraid that they are."

* * *

"Now you understand," Blair turned to Chuck once they were alone in the moving carriage.

"That your father is living in France with another man, yes. What this has to do with a marriage between us, no. You know, I honestly believed your father was deceased. No one ever speaks of him." There were implied questions in Chuck's comments.

"No, and that makes me sad. You know, when my father came to see my mother and me in London, it was the first time I had seen him in all the years since he left. He really has been lost to me. I've missed him terribly."

"But why all the secrecy?"

"My mother wanted it this way. To be separated is shocking enough, to be left for another man…." Her voice trailed off. "You are not shocked by my family situation?"

"Blair, I have traveled all over the world, and seen many things. Do you really believe I could be shocked by two gentlemen living together in a small vineyard outside Paris?"

"I wanted to tell you, but I did not know how," she confessed. "It is so awkward, you see."

Chuck understood. His own family situation was complicated as well.

"I liked your father. And Roman. They will get no judgment from me."

She smiled at him. "Oh, how I wish everyone felt that way. When my father left, my mother and I were barred from the upper circles of Manhattan society. That is why she wanted me to make my debut in Europe. We are not received by the old society New York families," she confided.

"But years have passed," Chuck reminded her. "Surely the scandal has died down. No one speaks of it any longer."

"Because my mother has taken great pains that they should not. When we were ostracized, she decided that she would focus on her business and make plans to make a brilliant match for me, somewhere other than in New York."

"But you are rich and very beautiful," he kissed her hand. "I'm sure there are hundreds, if not thousands of gentlemen in New York who would love to make you their bride."

"Maybe, but the scandal is always there, you see. If I married someone in New York, the gossip would follow. If I marry a nobleman in Europe, then no one would dare mention my origins."

"Blair, I will say it again. I do not want your dowry. I do not want your pedigree. And I care not in the slightest about some old gossip about your parents. I just want you."

A sob burst forth from her then. "You have no idea what that means to me, Chuck, but it's too late. The business is for sale, the banns have been read and it has been decided that I will save the family name. I am trapped, Chuck, and it matters not that the cage is shiny and attractive—it is a cage all the same."

He pulled her close. "Don't cry, darling. Please don't cry." His mind raced to think of something he could say, something he could do to overcome their obstacles. There were just so damn many of them: her stubborn but ailing mother, her scandal-plagued father, the threat of gossip, the loss of Waldorf Textiles…it was all too much. He understood now why Blair had come back to Archibald Priory looking pale and ill.

"That is why I need this, Chuck. I need this time to be with you. Before the door swings shut on my gilded cage, I want to be free to be with you, to fly."

He sighed. "Then that is what you will be, dearest. For the time that we have, we will just be Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck," he promised.

She looked up at him through her tears. "Love me?"

"Always." It was like a vow.

* * *

They returned home with a renewed commitment to seizing joy for as long as they possibly could.

Chuck had been shocked to learn the weight of the burden his beloved was bearing. It was overwhelming, but still she had managed to fight against her fate, to escape and join him, to grasp whatever moments of happiness were possible. If she could do this, then so could he.

Not that he was giving up—oh, no indeed. The very next morning he sent a cable to his father, detailing why Waldorf Textiles would make a profitable investment and an excellent addition to the Bass Enterprises family of companies. He requested that his father look further into the possibilities of an acquisition. He even offered to forego his plans of opening a club in Manhattan.

He said nothing of this to Blair, not wanting to get her hopes up. By tacit agreement, the couple chose to focus on savoring every single moment they had left together. Every shared meal and conversation, every morning waking in each other's arms, every time they made love, every time their fingertips touched and entwined was its own unique celebration. So much so that Chuck decided to plan an even bigger celebration…

It was a couple of days later that Blair descended the stairs for dinner only to gasp at what she found there. Chuck was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in his very best. Candles burned brightly and dozens of bouquets of peonies filled the hall and dining room. Chuck was holding a single peony that he slipped in her hair.

"Happy Birthday, Blair," he whispered as he took her arm and led her into the dining room. The table was covered with the finest lace-trimmed linen tablecloth and all her favorite dishes. A large cake awaited on the buffet.

She was shocked. She was overcome, especially since….

"Oh, Chuck, this is amazing," she looked around, trying to take it all in, "but my birthday-."

"Is in November. Yes, I know, but I wanted us to have a special celebration. For all those special times like your birthday, Christmas, Valentine's Day, and the like - I wanted this just for us. Maybe this will make it more special," he slipped a flat, oblong box out of his suit coat and presented it to her.

Though she grasped it in her fingers, she stood looking at him in wonder.

"Go on, open it," he took it back and opened the box, revealing its contents.

She gasped. It was the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen. Eleven carats of diamonds sparkled in a setting of white gold, or was it platinum? Pendant drops in the shape of small blossoms alternated with chevrons meant to depict open petals. Out of the chevrons dangled single tiny stones like little drops of dew. In the center was an intricate heart, filled with swirls and blooms. Within the heart was another, smaller heart with a stone in the middle. It was exquisite, an Art Nouveau masterpiece that was truly a work of art.

Her eyes grew big and her fingers reflexively came out to tentatively touch the new treasure. Her lips made a soundless 'oh' before curving into a wide smile.

"Come, let's get this on you." Chuck had been watching her face the whole time and was delighted with her reaction. His fingers worked on releasing the pendant from its case and putting it around her neck.

"Oh, Chuck, it is magnificent. So grand…," she fumbled for words as his fingers fumbled with the clasp. "So beautiful…."

He leaned closer to her and whispered, "Something this beautiful should be seen on someone worthy of its beauty." He squeezed her hand and gently placed a kiss on her shoulder.

A little voice inside Blair reminded her that she should not be accepting such a gift from a man who was not her husband. But another voice, coming from deep inside herself where some might say her heart was, argued that she would never belong to anyone the way she and Chuck belonged to each other and that this night was unique. He would never again be able to give her something so personal. All they had was here and now, and that must be embraced.

She smiled back at him and squeezed his hand in return. "Thank you," she looked up at him as she said it, her eyes trying to convey that she was grateful for so much more than the necklace he'd just given her. Her lips brushed his in a reverent kiss, which like so many of their kisses progressed into a deeper one, until he was ready to forego dinner altogether and just carry her upstairs.

A discreet cough and inquiry from Arthur about serving the next course brought them back to reality, and they were able to enjoy their dinner and dessert, then go into the parlor and play the piano together for a bit.

"If only there were some way we could play and still dance together," Blair sighed.

"Maybe there is," Chuck mused. He got up from the piano and went to a corner of the room, indicating the exotic looking machine sitting on a small cabinet.

"Is that…? Can it be…?"

"A phonograph, yes, it is." It was composed of a large brass horn mounted on a decorative wooden box that housed the mechanical equipment of the device, which apparently "read" the grooves on a flat disc to reproduce sound. It was powered by a crank on one side of the box.

"I'm afraid I haven't much music for it here, but if Mrs. Bass wishes to dance…," he held his arms out to her and they whirled around and around the room.

"I doubt anything will ever truly replace the sound of live music, but it is rather wonderful, isn't it?" she sighed.

"Perhaps we shall go to a concert later this week," he offered.

"That would be lovely," she agreed. "Do you know what else would be lovely?" She whispered something deliciously naughty in his ear.

And that was all the invitation he needed.

* * *

When they awoke the next morning, she was wearing her necklace, a smile and very little else. With her dark curls tousled and her lips swollen from kisses, she had never been more beautiful to Chuck. And then she gave him the locket with the eye miniature she had crafted. He was so moved that she had done this just for him. He felt he couldn't love or want her any more than he did at this very minute.

Naturally, they were very late for breakfast.

After their morning meal, they decided to take advantage of the beautiful day by going for a morning drive in the park, before Parisian society was out and about to spot them. They enjoyed a pleasant hour in the fresh air before returning back home.

They slipped in the front door, arm in arm with Chuck's other arm around her waist. They were laughing at some private joke between the two of them when they suddenly realized they were not alone in the foyer.

* * *

Serena van der Woodsen expected them to be somewhat surprised by her unannounced arrival, but she hadn't expected them to be thunderstruck. The shock wiped the smiles off their faces, even as their arms instinctively tightened around each other.

Serena didn't waste time or words. "Blair, your mother is on her way to Grandmother CeCe's even as we speak. She apparently believes you are there, as I believed you were with her." Serena clearly disapproved of Blair's actions. "I took a guess where you might be, and it seems I was right. I've come to fetch you home."

But Blair wasn't looking her friend; she was looking at Chuck, who likewise couldn't look away. Her fingers sank more deeply into his arm.

Chuck seemed to find his voice first. "Arthur?" he called.

"Yes, Mister Charles?" Arthur was suspiciously quick to arrive.

"Can you ring for Aurelie to ready Miss Blair's things, please?" The words sounded forced from him.

Serena noticed that Blair flinched when he referred to her as Miss Blair. When Arthur assented and said that Aurelie was already at work doing so for Miss Blair, she flinched again, as if she were in pain.

"Chuck, no!" The cry sounded as if it were being wrung out of her. "We are supposed to have three more days together. I cannot leave you now, I cannot!"

He rubbed her hand in what was meant to be a soothing way, even though he was obviously just as upset as she was.

She began to cry and it looked like Chuck might cry as well.

Serena stood in the foyer, silently hoping that the floor might swallow her. She'd envisioned it might be awkward, her arriving like this, when Blair had clearly been staying with Mr. Bass, but this was excruciating. On the drive over, Serena had been quite cross with Blair for putting her in this predicament. Ladies never visited the homes of single gentlemen, much less became their houseguests. Blair had a fiancé, the perfect fiancé as far as Serena was concerned. Why, oh, why could Blair not appreciate what she had? Why, if Serena herself had been engaged to Nate..er, the Duke….then…, her thoughts trailed off as she was consumed by the tableau playing out in front of her.

Chuck and Blair seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was in the room. Chuck was holding both her hands tightly in his, their foreheads touching.

"Shh, sweetheart, please, you mustn't cry. How else am I to bear this if you do? We knew this day was coming. It is just earlier than we had hoped. It was never going to be easy to say goodbye. Even if we spent a hundred years together, it would not be enough."

Serena felt a strange pain in her chest that she suspected might be her heart breaking.

"Never enough," Blair agreed as she tried to control her tears. "I have been so happy here with you. I would not trade a single second," she whispered.

"Nor would I," he shook his head.

She swallowed and tried to speak again. "I drew some plans for your Veranda. They are in the desk in your office." She pulled off a glove and stared down at the ring on her left hand.

Serena gaped at the ring on her finger. Blair hadn't…she wouldn't have…would she?!

"Here," she tugged and the ring slid into her other hand. She then gently placed it in his.

He tried to give it back. "No, you keep it. Please. It was made for you, with love."

"No, you know I cannot. Let me know that it is safe with you," she begged.

Serena shifted her weight from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable, had anyone noticed she was there.

Arthur carried the last of Blair's bags down to the foot of the staircase. "Would you like these in the carriage, Miss Blair?"

She cleared her throat and tried to compose herself. "Thank you, Arthur. You are the very best of caretakers."

She did not verbally implore him to take care of her Chuck, but he understood what she meant all the same and his eyes were suspiciously moist as he gruffly nodded.

Serena was startled by a sudden movement at the top of the stairs. A young Frenchwoman was there, looking down and openly weeping. Serena presumed this was the aforementioned Aurelie, who had clearly served as Blair's maid.

Blair missed all of those things, unable to tear her eyes away from Chuck. She only dimly heard Serena remind her it was time to go.

"I want you know, Blair," Chuck was still holding her hands, "that I have not given up, that I never will. If there is anything I could do…?"

"Just kiss me, Chuck Bass," she whispered as he pressed his lips to hers.

As kisses went, it was neither their most passionate nor most chaste, Rather, it fell somewhere in between, but it was what it was meant to be: a kiss to remember.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Bass," his voice seemed to come from very far away.

She tried to respond, but no sound came. Instead, she took his hand and brought it to her chest.

Was she trying to show him that her heart beat only for him? Or was she instead revealing something pinned under her clothing? Whichever it was, it caused them both to smile for a brief second.

Serena looked at the floor. She had come here with the very best of purposes and intentions, and now she felt like the vilest of villains. It seemed terribly wrong and cruel to separate two people who clearly loved each other so much.

Right or wrong, Serena had a duty to fulfill. And she reminded herself of that as she led Blair to the door, watching her friend's fingers lingering on Mr. Bass's until the last possible second. Blair seemed impossibly calm until the coach took off, and then silent sobs began to shake through her body. Serena could think of nothing to say; she just held her friend and let her cry.

* * *

Chuck Bass spent the remainder of the day in a flurry of activity. Which was fine. He was fine.

He went into the office and met with the employees there. And he was fine.

He stopped and secured his return ticket home to New York on the first available steamer. And he was fine.

He met with the household staff and made plans to ready the house for Jack and Georgina's return from their honeymoon. And he was fine. Even after little Aurelie cried in gratitude when she was told she'd be kept on staff as a general maid.

He ate his dinner in solitude and tried to ignore that Arthur had prepared some of his favorite dishes, surely to cheer him. He didn't need cheer, however, because he was fine.

After dinner, he went into his office and looked over the drawings she had made for the club. He objectively admired her artistic skill, absentmindedly stroking the locket that now graced the watch fob in his pocket. He dared not open it, but he did not need to. He could see her clearly enough in his mind's eye. The plans were lovely, as was the folded note atop them that contained those three words/eight letters. A lesser man might have been toppled by those things, but he was fine.

It was not until he went upstairs and got into bed that doubt began to seep in. The bed was empty and cold. Her pillow still bore her scent and a slight impression where her head had lain. Clearly Aurelie would need to be taught how to plump pillows. And then he realized that Blair was really gone, that these little traces were all he had left of the woman he loved more than life itself. He could feel his heart—the one that many had previously doubted he had-break as he let the sobs come.

He was most certainly not fine.

To Be Continued in Chapter 11

* * *

Author's Note: Do you need some tissues? I confess that when I finished this chapter, I did. I've never really pegged myself as a writer of angst, but clearly Chrys1130 has been a bad influence on me.

This chapter is dedicated to one of my best friends, the lovely and talented SnowedUnderNJ, on the occasion of her birthday. Happy Birthday, S, with much love. If you have not read her stories, especially the wonderful _White Lies and Dark Secrets_ , make sure you do!

Writing about Blair and Harold was painful for me, as I am very close to a relative who has experienced estrangement and prejudice due to his sexual orientation. No one should have to go through that. Everyone should be loved and accepted for who they are, just as they are (as Bridget Jones' Mark Darcy would say).

Me (to Fic Police Officer): Are you impressed? I updated within a month!

Fic Police: Only by 4 days, ma'am. Don't get cocky.

Me: It was a difficult chapter to write. And Secretverse Chuck and Blair needed me. Besides, I think readers really missed you anyway.

FP: What makes you say that, ma'am?

Me: Well, Mahnaz "might have developed some feelings" (air quotes) for you and wants to know if you're single. And CarolinaGirl said she enjoys your conversation.

FP: Everyone's crazy about a sharp-dressed literary authority figure. It's my curse.

Me: So…are you single?

FP: *drives away in a cloud of dust, leaving skid marks*

Me: I think he's shy. Don't be shy, readers; review and tell me your thoughts on this chapter. I'll try to duck if you want to throw something at me.

Special thanks to all my readers, and to my beta buddies Chairship, Almaloney33 and rayj829.

Until next time,

XOXO


	11. Chapter 11

Last time in the Cageverse: Chuck and Blair's romantic faux honeymoon came to an end with Serena's arrival, and circumstances forced the lovers to go their separate ways. If two people are really meant to be together, can fate bring them back?

* * *

Chapter 11

It was a journey to the New World…and his old world.

Mr. Daniel Humphrey, journalist and adventurer, was on his way home to New York. He'd arrived in England in June to cover Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee and spent nearly every penny he had on the passage there and back. His series of articles on the historic event had been eagerly snapped up by magazines back home and he was enjoying the novelty of having a byline and a bit of change in his pocket. But when it was time to return home, he felt…unsettled…unready…as though his trip was unfinished.

There was so much more he wanted to see and do. So he traded in his second-class ticket for third-class instead and used the difference to finance travel around the country and the Continent. He'd stood before Stonehenge, explored the Eiffel Tower, saw a bullfight in Spain, and people-watched in the beer gardens of Berlin. The magazine that had published his article on the Diamond Jubilee was happy to keep buying his travelogues filled with dry humor and insightful wit. But Dan himself still felt creatively dissatisfied, and when his funds ran low, so too did his enthusiasm for European travel.

It was time to go home.

What his next subject would be, heaven only knew. Thus far, the muse was not speaking to him. As he boarded the ship, battered carpetbag in hand, he only knew that he was looking forward to rediscovering America and learning how his little sister Jenny had fared during his absence.

He was handed a souvenir passenger list and he paused by the rail to look it over. He supposed he could write about his fellow passengers and the growing popularity of ocean travel. Perhaps there would be some interesting persons on board….

His eyes scanned the list of first-class travelers and he paused at two familiar names. Miss Serena van der Woodsen and Miss Blair Waldorf. The Sun and the Moon. They had been the talk of Europe this spring and summer. Their beauty, their charm, their fashionable clothing…. And now Miss Waldorf was set to become the next Duchess of Archibald. Some found this news thrilling; others were disappointed that she was not going to make a match of it with nouveau riche New Yorker Charles Bass. Dan wondered what the young lady herself thought.

He was still standing at the rail when the buzz started around him. He looked up to see what had caught the crowd's interest.

Ah, the lady in question!

She was beautiful. Heartbreakingly, breathtakingly so. Perfectly dressed and poised, though she looked a bit tired and was that a touch of melancholy in her eyes? Or had he merely been listening to too much gossip?

And then he heard it.

From behind Miss Waldorf on the gangplank came a carefree laugh that sounded like that of a young child.

And then she emerged from the shadows. Tall and willowy. The sunlight glinted on her hair, at least the parts he could see under her hat, and even at this distance, he could tell her eyes were a serene crystal blue.

He was captivated and could not look away. After all the talk about their fabled looks and charm, he'd half expected to be disappointed by reality. He could not have been more wrong.

The crossing of the Atlantic was slated to take over a week's time. In that time, he was somehow going to make their acquaintance, get to know them, write about them. What was causing the enigmatic look in Miss Waldorf's eye? And what had so amused her companion? These were mysteries he felt compelled to solve.

His muse had returned…and she laughed like a four-year-old.

* * *

He might as well have wished for the literal sun and moon, Dan thought with disgust.

Circumstances were conspiring against him. First, Miss Waldorf came down with a raging bout of seasickness that kept her to her stateroom for most of the voyage. At one point, it looked like she might be feeling better—Dan actually saw her enter the dining salon only to turn back at the sight of the vast platters of food the stewards were carrying.

This could have meant he had a better opportunity to seek out Miss van der Woodsen…but it didn't. Being on a separate deck in third class meant his chances to cross paths with her were slim. Even now, he was cursing his decision to downgrade from the second class ticket.

After much wrangling, he did manage to run into the two young ladies on deck one morning and attempt a conversation. Miss Waldorf looked at him with obvious disapproval, though whether she was more put off by his disheveled hair (the sea air was no friend to natural curls) and rumpled suit or his temerity in speaking to her was anyone's guess. Miss van der Woodsen was clearly the more open of the two. She gave him a warm and welcoming smile and responded politely to his comments about the weather and the progress of their journey.

Just as their conversation was getting underway, Miss van der Woodsen's grandmother (Mrs. Rhodes? Mrs. Ross?) appeared with another young man in tow, who turned out to be the son of the Marquess of Baizen. Clearly, Daniel Humphrey was doomed. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to spend any more time with the young lady for the rest of the voyage.

He gave a lingering sigh before he departed the ship. He just knew there were stories to tell about the ladies. What if Miss Waldorf really was pining for Mr. Bass? Her friend seemed happy and open—but was she hiding some secret sadness behind that blindingly bright smile? Oh, there were secrets there and his mind was dizzy with the prospect of them. He began to speculate on what they could be. There were probably enough to fill a novel….

And that's when it hit him: HE could write that novel.

He'd never attempted anything besides the usual essay, editorial or travelogue piece, but now he felt challenged, inspired. He might not be able to get into their world—he couldn't even get to their dinner table, to be honest—but he could write himself into it…and explore its secrets.

Yes, Daniel Humphrey was going inside.

* * *

"Blair, dear, you must try to eat something," Mrs. Rhodes coaxed. She gestured towards the full spread at the Waldorf's dining table, where Serena was already enjoying a light repast.

"Yes, Blair, you will be famished by the end of the night if you don't. And the Duke will be arriving soon to take us to the theater. You know you've been eager to see _The Belle of New York_. A musical comedy is just what you need. Aren't you excited to see your fiancé?"

It was all Blair could do not to roll her eyes. Even almost two months into her engagement to the Duke, er, Nathaniel—she must get used to calling him that—she was still slightly jarred by the reference to their impending marriage. How could she be excited about marrying one man when she still felt married in every way that mattered to another?

Blair took a roll from the bread basket to appease her companions and stood up with a sigh, making her way to her window, where she picked at it and tried to force a few bites down her throat. As per usual, her stomach threatened to turn. She winced and placed the remainder of the bread back in the basket.

Mrs. Rhodes frowned. "Oh, Blair darling, are you still feeling unwell? Should we summon a physician? I have never known the aftereffects of seasickness to last so long. And you have grown so thin!"

Serena's eyes flew to Blair, assessing her speculatively.

Blair gave a wry smile. "Well, Mother will be pleased by that, at any rate."

"Don't joke," CeCe still looked quite serious. "I am very concerned for you."

"You are very kind, but please don't worry," Blair soothed, "I am certain I shall be fine presently. It's nothing."

CeCe still looked dubious. "Well, if you are sure. But if you don't feel better soon, we will definitely send for the doctor. Promise me?"

"Of course," Blair had already turned back to the window and was staring out at the view of Manhattan.

When her grandmother left to get ready for the theater, Serena came over to stand by her friend.

"Are you certain you are all right?" she repeated the question, forcing Blair to meet her eyes.

"No, Serena, I am not all right and I am never going to be. You of all people know why. They say it's a broken heart, but I hurt in my whole body. Nothing feels as it should."

Serena looked away, again crushed by the guilt about her role in separating Blair and Mr. Bass. Her friend had returned with her, yes, but it was a very different Blair, a mere shell of her former self, who was with her now. Perhaps her grandmother might not notice, perhaps Blair's own mother didn't, but it was painfully obvious to Serena.

"What are you thinking?" she couldn't help but wonder aloud as Blair continued to stare out the window.

"That somewhere, not far from here, is Chuck. And I cannot see him, cannot go to him…. He might as well be across the sea or on the moon. I thought it would be easier to say goodbye after…after the time we spent together, but I could not have been more wrong."

Tears welled in Serena's eyes. "I am sorry this is so hard for you. And especially now when you are feeling ill…," she laid a gentle hand on her friend's arm and took a deep breath. "Blair…I must ask you something: do you think you might be with child?" She forced the words from her lips.

Blair shook her head. "No, I had my courses just a few days after coming home, so I cannot be."

"You sound…sad about that," Serena could not disguise the surprise in her voice.

"It was something we had talked of, dreamed of…one day. We were going to build a new home," she sounded far away, as if she were still in the world where that was possible. "We wanted something near the Park, so we could take the children to feed the ducks, like I used to as a child."

She squeezed Blair's arm. "Yes, but you will have a beautiful home at the Priory. Think of the grounds! Think of all the history! And the Duke is so kind and such a gentleman; I know he will be a wonderful husband and father."

"I am sure he will," she tried to summon up a smile. "It is just very difficult, you see, to give up everything you know…and love."

Serena impulsively hugged her friend. "But you are beautiful and brave and I know it will all come out right in the end."

It had to, Blair thought, because there were no other viable alternatives.

* * *

"Miss Blair, His Grace the Duke downstairs," Dorota announced.

Blair looked up from her dressing table, where she was putting the final touches on her toilette, and met Serena's eyes. She took a deep breath. This was it. Showtime.

Serena smiled encouragingly and held out her hand. Blair unashamedly took it; she needed all the courage she could muster this evening.

Their hands stayed linked as they set off down the stairs. Then suddenly Blair's hand left hers when they reached the landing.

There was a sharp gasp and then Serena's eyes went to Blair's face. At first she looked stricken, even more pale than she had of late, but then she was beaming, her smile spreading from her lips all the way up to her eyes. Serena felt momentarily blinded by her brilliance.

Then the blonde's eyes traveled down to where the Duke waited at the foot of the stairs, his blue eyes sparkling. Serena couldn't stop the smile that spread across her own face. Blair was so, so lucky….

"Your Grace!" Serena's smile came through in her voice.

And then she saw the reason for her friend's reaction…standing behind the Duke, wearing a similar startled expression that gave way to a smile Serena felt certain most people had never seen.

"…And Mr. Bass," she added with a touch of surprise.

Hearing his name seemed to bring Blair back to reality and she schooled her face back into the polite smile she'd been wearing before descending the steps.

"I hope you had a pleasant voyage, Your, er, Nathaniel." The Duke took her gloved hand and kissed it formally. "And you've brought…your friend."

"Yes, I had planned on staying at a hotel, but when I came to call on Chuck, he very graciously invited me to stay with him. It has been like school days for us again."

"That was very kind of you, Mr. Bass," Serena chimed in.

Chuck bowed low over Blair's hand. "Miss Waldorf." The words came out sounding forced and choked.

"Please, you must call me Blair," she urged, obviously as upset as he was by their restored formality.

"Miss Blair," he continued to hold her hand in his until Mrs. Rhodes reached the foot of the stairs and gave a discreet cough.

"Come along, children, we don't want to be late for the play, do we?" CeCe sailed past the young people, took her wrap from a waiting Dorota and left the group to follow in her wake.

* * *

It was excruciating.

To be in the same room, the same coach, the same theater box…and yet unable to speak, to touch was just as bad as their separation, maybe worse.

Blair reminded herself that she must not look at him, she mustn't…or else she'd never stop looking at him. She remembered what he'd said in the foyer before she left with Serena: For them, even a hundred years wouldn't be enough. The corners of her mouth turned down and a sad expression came into her eyes.

Serena caught it and gave her a sharp look and silent rebuke.

Blair forced a smile back onto her lips. She could do this, of course she could. She just had to remember that she was Blair Waldorf, future duchess and savior of her family. She was not Blair Bass, crazy in love and full of dreams and plans for the future. They were two different people.

For his part, Chuck vacillated between elation at just being in her presence again and frustration that he was still unable to come up with a solution to their enforced separation. He had not been too proud to beg his father in person to help finance purchasing Waldorf Textiles, but it had been pointless. His father still refused and kept him busy at a myriad of tasks at Bass Enterprises. Any spare time he had was devoted to writing letters to anyone he felt he might make his case. On the rare occasions that someone seemed interested in his plans, they quickly changed their minds once they found out Bart was not involved. No one wanted to cross the man who owned half of Manhattan. If Big Bad Bart wanted no part of the transaction, there must be a reason.

In desperation, Chuck had even gone to his lawyers to see about freeing up his inheritance from his mother. He was told that unless his father signed the funds over, he would have to wait until his marriage or his twenty-fifth birthday, as per the original terms of the will. It was time he did not have. If he couldn't secure the funds now, he wouldn't be marrying at all.

Chuck watched his friend's eyes linger on Blair's blonde friend and more anger flared in him. How dare Nate be so blind to the charms of his own fiancée? Oh, he seemed fond enough of Blair, but not captivated as he appeared to be with Miss van der Woodsen. His friend was clearly a fool. If he were Blair's fiancé, he would never let his eyes or his hand stray from hers. He would never…

But he was not her fiancé and it was pointless to be jealous and critical of his oldest, dearest friend. It was not Nate's fault that things were as they were. If he did know about the situation, Nate would be greatly upset about Chuck and Blair's feelings. He might even wish to call off the wedding, but as that was impossible, it was best that he remain unaware.

Chuck felt, rather than saw, Serena's disapproving gaze on him, almost as if she were watching to be sure he behaved himself. Oh, he would do that; she need not worry on that account.

And so the party was happy when the curtain rose. Chuck and Blair were relieved that no one could see them gaze at each other while everyone else watched the show.

It was such a change, Blair thought, from their trip with the Prince of Wales to the Palais Garnier in Paris. She remembered the thrill of sitting in the dark with Chuck and the seductive way he'd removed her glove and held her hand. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

They made it through the first act and everyone smiled indulgently at Serena's enthusiastic chatter about the musical during the intermission.

When they took their seats again for the second act, Serena was stymied to see that the action had relocated to the other side of the stage and she no longer had a good view from her seat in the box. Chuck kindly offered to switch places with her, an offer he regretted when he realized he was now seated between Blair and the velvet curtain of the box.

It should have been heaven.

Instead, it was absolute hell.

Now she was close enough to touch…

Too close.

Too close.

And then her opera glasses and fan slid off her lap.

She reached down to grab them.

And so did he.

Their gloved fingers brushed as he handed the items back to her.

Brushed…and caught.

It was so powerful, the surge of electricity from her fingertips to his. Even the finest of evening gloves did nothing to dim it.

He could not let go. No matter what the risk or the punishment, he let his hand linger in hers, remembering the first time they'd done this in Paris.

And all their other firsts.

And suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to do it all over again, to experience each and every one of the magical moments they had spent together. Even knowing it had to end as it was now, as it should have before now.

Right now, he wanted to rise to his feet, to pull her with him, to join his lips with hers and kiss her breathless, to say those 3 words, 8 letters, all of them:

I want you.

I need you.

I miss you.

I love you.

He heard her soft gasp and knew she felt the same.

Why oh why had he thought coming here tonight was a good idea? While Nathaniel had been persuasive, he should have declined. But how could he dismiss the chance to see the face he dreamed about every night? He'd been a willing conspirator, he couldn't deny.

But he had to let go of her hand. If he thought it had been intoxicating to hold it before, when they'd only recently met, he was a fool. Because now he knew (oh so well) what that soft little hand felt like holding his, tangling in his hair, touching his body…and he couldn't forget. He had to get out of there….

He stood up. And was stunned when the rest of the company stood along with him. The show was over? When had that happened? He didn't recall a single thing about the whole second act.

The rest of the evening passed as if in a dream. They went to Delmonico's for a late supper. The restaurant owed its extensive menu of delectable creations to its former chef, the French-born Charles Ranhofer. He'd invented such dishes as Lobster Newberg and Baked Alaska, and even published a one-thousand page collection of his recipes a few years before.

Dining at Delmonico's was never less than a treat. Or it would have been had Chuck not been so obsessed with trying to avoid any further physical contact with Blair. Focusing on the food and décor did little to distract him. All he could think of was how he wanted to discuss them with Blair and what practices might be used for opening their club. His club, he reminded himself. But Blair had been his partner in all senses of the word and to go from that to being casual connections felt alien to him. His fingers closed around the watch fob in his pocket that she'd given him.

This had to stop. He forced himself to let go of it and placed his left hand back on the table. Unfortunately, at the same time, Blair's right hand was extending to her wine glass. Their arms grazed and they both startled, with Blair almost knocking over her goblet. Guiltily, their eyes flew to each other and then the rest of their party. Nate was laughing at something Serena said and she was blushing and giggling. Luckily, Mrs. Rhodes seemed more interested in her granddaughter's behavior than anything else.

They were safe. For now.

As they slipped into their coats in the cloakroom after dinner, he managed to take advantage of the brouhaha surrounding Mrs. Rhodes' seemingly missing wrap and whisper in Blair's ear, "I am sorry. I will stay away."

"Chuck, I-," she started to protest but then thought better of it and nodded in resignation.

By the time the missing garment had been located, the matter had been settled. They were settled.

* * *

Chuck was true to his word and avoided all things Waldorf like the plague, all the while still working to find some way to gain the eleventh hour financing so that they might be together.

If Chuck did not want to be on Blair's outings with her fiancé, he was not alone. Blair found herself looking for every possible opportunity to avoid the courtship. Her stomach was still sensitive and she felt quite out of sorts. So Blair Waldorf, the reigning queen of society, began to avoid society whenever possible and encouraged Serena to entertain the Duke in her absence. The blonde pair were regularly seen bicycling, riding, playing tennis or croquet or going to musicales. Meanwhile, Blair was content to stay home, enjoying tea and toast, reading _Alice in Wonderland_ and nursing her broken heart.

"Bride nerves," the Dowager Duchess of Archibald pronounced when she arrived in New York for the upcoming nuptials. And that was the end of Blair's retreat from the world. "Duchesses do not lie about," she scolded and soon Blair found herself back in the social whirl. Except the whirl of it continued to make her tired and dizzy. Often, she could barely stay awake at late-night events. She sat down in a wing-back chair at a ball one evening only to find herself awakened by a very intimidating Bart Bass staring down at her quizzically.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Waldorf?" he demanded.

"Yes, of course, certainly, Mr. Bass. It's very kind of you to inquire," she nodded.

He bowed and left then.

Mrs. Rhodes stepped in with an equally troubled expression on her face, having witnessed the incident. "Blair, it is past time we call the doctor. Please. Even Mr. Bass can see that something is wrong and you want to feel better before your mother arrives for the wedding, don't you?"

Exhausted and miserable, Blair nodded and allowed herself to be escorted home.

The following morning, Mrs. Rhodes' physician called at the house, bag in hand. When he left an hour later, Serena and her grandmother were waiting to hear the prognosis.

"Oh, Blair, do tell me it is not serious, please," Serena begged, wringing her hands.

Blair smiled and it was like the sun coming out after a long rain. "I assure you, Serena, I am going to be fine. Dr. Watt recommended ginger for my upset stomach and said I shall feel like myself again very soon."

"Oh, thank God," Serena breathed, collapsing against her friend in an enveloping hug.

"Blair, is there anything you would like to-," Grandmama CeCe was interrupted by the peal of the doorbell.

"Mr. Bass!" And there was Chuck, on the doorstep, failing completely at his self-imposed exile.

He looked more handsome than any man had a right to be this early on a sunny morning.

"I came to inquire after Miss Waldorf's health. I thought perhaps we might walk in the park?" He looked from Blair to her chaperone.

Ah, so he wanted a private conversation with her then. Mrs. Rhodes imperceptibly nodded.

"It's such a beautiful day. I would love to go to the park," Serena added.

Mrs. Rhodes frowned. "Indeed it is, child, but we have to get our final fittings done for our dresses for the wedding. You said you would help me choose the perfect hat," she reminded.

Serena's face fell. "But won't Blair need a chaperone?"

"I should think not, not in a public park on a sunny morning. Besides, she is engaged to marry now and that is common knowledge."

"I think a little walk sounds lovely." Blair smiled, but Chuck did not smile back.

They left the house arm in arm, standing a proper distance apart, and both were silent for a time.

Finally, she could bear it no longer. "Chuck, what is wrong? You must tell me."

"I am here to ask you that very question. My father came to talk to me at the office this morning. Blair, are you ill?"

"Why would you think that?"

"My father said that you looked pale at a ball last night and had fallen asleep in a corner." Chuck's eyes were focused on her now.

"I will have you know, Chuck Bass, that my skin is _porcelain_ , not pale. I am very fair, you know."

"Indeed," he had to suppress a grin. "All the better to set off those lovely eyes and hair."

She laughed then, flattered and pleased by his comment. "I was merely tired from a long night, a series of long nights. Anne Archibald is a harsh taskmaster. Nathaniel is lucky he was not a debutante; she would have put him through his paces."

"So you are not ill then?"

"I am fine," she repeated more firmly. "Truly."

"I am so very glad of that." He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

They had reached the park and paused on a bridge overlooking a flowing stream. A group of swans were swimming under the bridge.

"Oh, Chuck, look at those two swans," she pointed out. "They almost look like a couple."

"Probably because they are; swans mate for life." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized they were a painful reminder of what he and Blair could never have.

Suddenly, the whole tenor of their interaction changed.

"I want you to know, Blair, I am still trying. Every day I keep looking for an answer to our problem. I will not stop."

Tears filled her eyes. "That means so very much to me, but I'm afraid there is no answer. Any day now, my mother will be arriving. The wedding is only days away."

The look of pain on his face was mirrored on her own.

She had to stop this.

She stopped again and took a breath. "Chuck, I cannot bear the thought of you being in pain because of me. You need to forget me, forget us. You need to find someone who loves you," she ground the words out.

"I have," he reminded her. "She is standing right in front of me. And she is already my wife."

Blair started to speak, but Chuck cut her off. "Maybe not in a church ledger or in a social register or a peerage book or in the eyes of the world, but in my eyes you will always be my wife."

"I don't know if I can do this, Chuck," she sighed. "I wish we could just run away and be together, without all the business and the parents and…."

"We did that, remember?" His tone was gentle. "We had almost two glorious weeks…and then it caught up to us."

She sniffed and nodded.

"Blair, I know you have to do what you think is right. And I know you are scared and worried. But I am always here. No matter where you are or who the world says is your husband, you have only to get word to me and I will be there. You know that, right?"

She nodded again. "We'd better get back."

He squeezed her hand. "I shall keep trying, down to the very last second if I have to. After that, I will respect the vows you take and that they are made to my best friend in the world besides you. But until then, if there is even the slightest chance we can be together, I will take it—business, parents, scandal and friendship be damned. Because I love you, Blair. I may never get to say that out loud to you again, but it will always be true."

The tears she'd been holding back rolled down her cheeks. "I love you more and more every day, if it's even possible to love someone so much." She looked down and allowed the wide brim of her hat to hide her face. She didn't want him to see her cry again.

Finally, they reached the townhouse and he reached into his suit pocket and drew out a fine linen handkerchief and handed it to her.

She mopped her eyes and handed it back to him. "Will you be coming to the wedding?"

He could think of nothing he dreaded more. He had planned on coming up with some excuse to avoid it. "Do you want me there?"

She nodded again. Blair knew it was wrong, even cruel, to ask it of him, but she knew his presence was something she needed.

"Then that is where I will be. How could I miss the wedding of the woman I love, even if it is not to me?"

Her next words tumbled out. "Chuck, there is something I need to tell you-."

Dorota appeared on the doorstep. "Miss Blair, your mother arrive."

"Thank you, Dorota." She took one last swipe at her eyes with her gloved hand, straightened her spine and prepared to go inside. Then she turned to look back at him. "Thank you…for this morning."

He nodded.

They had already said their goodbyes. There was nothing left to say.

* * *

Blair peeked in the door of her mother's upstairs bedroom, only to find her stretched out on the bed, fully dressed, eyes half closed.

Blair's heart seized. "Mother, shall we fetch the doctor? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, dear, just a bit worn from the travel. I should get up, though," Eleanor started to sit up.

"No, no, you rest for a little while longer."

"But there is so much to do. It is not every day that one's daughter is becoming a duchess, you know." She sounded so pleased and proud. Blair wished she could summon even a small percentage of that excitement about the whole thing.

"CeCe tells me you went for a walk with Mr. Bass."

"Yes. He came to inquire after my health." Although her mother's tone had been neutral, Blair felt she needed to be defensive. "We were on the sidewalk and in a public park. It was all very circumspect, I assure you."

"How is your health?" Her mother looked her over appraisingly. "I hear you've been ill since you returned to the city."

"I am fine," Blair sighed. "But Mother, I—."

Eleanor reached for her hand and squeezed it. "I think I know what is wrong. It has been hard for you to give up that young man. I know you care for him." Blair had to bite back a retort here. What she felt for Chuck went so far beyond caring feelings. "And he cares for you. If circumstances were different…."

Blair said nothing.

"Well, you know the circumstances. I know you have had to make sacrifices for our family, for our business, but it won't always be this hard. The Duke will make you a good husband, a good father for your children. He's very handsome, isn't he? And kind. I looked a long time before choosing him for you. I wanted you to have the very best. Only the best for my brave, beautiful daughter. I don't ever want you to be alone like I was when your father left. I don't want you to have to struggle. I want you to always be happy."

Blair tried to be positive. Her mother loved her and was doing what she thought was in Blair's best interest. She didn't understand what it was like to love someone the way she loved Chuck. What she felt for him was once in a lifetime—no, it was even rarer than that. Some people went their whole lives and never encountered it. She had almost missed it herself. Had she not gone to that ball that evening…. Had she not seen him…. She imagined she would be fairly content right now, excited about her future life as a duchess. But she would never have known what it was like to love and be fully loved in return. And for all the pain she was in right now, all the pain that would follow, she would not take back a single thing.

Her mother brightened and tried to turn the topic to lighter things. "Was there something you started to tell me, dear?"

Blair shook her head. "Just that I hope you get a good rest today."

Her mother's eyes were closed again before she could leave the room.

* * *

The engagement ball of His Grace the Duke of Archibald and Miss Blair Waldorf was the social event of the year. The house was filled to overflowing and the ballroom floor was a blur of beautiful gowns and expertly tailored evening wear.

Nathaniel Fitzwilliam, tenth Duke and guest of honor, found that being the bridegroom counted for nothing in this sad crush of people. He spotted his fiancée among the dancers, stylish and smiling, and thought for the thousandth time how little he actually knew her. He'd come to New York City in these weeks before the wedding to become better acquainted, but ironically he felt he knew her less now than ever.

It was so different with Serena, er, Miss van der Woodsen. Miss Waldorf's illness had prevented her being out and about much, but her friend was a jolly good sport and had become a capital companion. Whether they were bicycling or discussing his plans for crop rotation on the estate, she threw herself into everything wholeheartedly. She was so easy to talk to…and to look upon.

From a distance, he observed someone cut in on Miss Waldorf's dance. If she had been smiling before, she was positively beaming now. Her eyes lit up and her smile widened. And then he saw who was having this effect on her: his best friend, Chuck, who had the same look on his face. Nate was relieved that Chuck, who was as close—maybe closer—than a brother was getting on so well with his future wife. They did make a striking pair, moving perfectly in sync, both such beautiful combinations of light and dark. Nate had heard rumors—who hadn't?—about bets placed that Chuck might win Blair's hand in marriage. He found them quite humorous. Why, Chuck and Blair had only met briefly this spring. And besides, he was Chuck Bass, hardly the marrying kind.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw the couple dancing next to them. It was impossible to miss the golden halo of Serena's curls and the gentleman she was dancing with was…no, it couldn't be…it simply wasn't possible…Carter Baizen of all people? What was that bounder doing with her?! He moved closer to get a better look, not caring who he happened to trample along the way, but all he could see was Mrs. Rhodes looking encouragingly at the dancing duo. She couldn't really be thinking of Carter as a potential suitor for her granddaughter, could she?

So caught up was Nate in Serena and her suitor that he did not even realize how close he was until he literally bumped into Chuck and Blair on the dance floor.

"Are you here to claim your bride?" Chuck tried to sound light, but a slight growl came through.

Nate just assumed his friend was annoyed by his clumsiness and disapproved of his changing marital status. After all, Chuck had sworn for years that he would never marry. Nate believed that was why Chuck seemed to tune him out every time he tried to talk about Blair. What other reason could there be?

Recovering, Chuck released Blair with good grace. And if their hands seemed reluctant to part, if their fingertips lingered for just a shade too long…well, Nate didn't notice. He was still looking at Serena and Carter and snarling.

He tried to focus on his dancing partner, the woman he was going to marry. She was beautiful and acclaimed a great wit. Nate did not entirely get her humor sometimes, but her remarks were well received and she always seemed to make Chuck laugh. She was a reigning debutante, much sought after, and, he had to be honest, her dowry was, as the Americans might say, the icing on the cake. Archibald Priory, both the house itself and the entire estate, would benefit from her financial contributions to the marriage.

So why was it so very hard to talk to her? Was it because he couldn't stop comparing her to Serena? Well, he was going to stop doing so right now. He would get to know Blair better and then he would see how very right a choice she was for him. Perhaps if they spent a bit of time alone, away from the throngs of people here tonight….

* * *

She tried to hold it back but couldn't—that little thrill that coursed through when he came striding into the parlor carrying a lush bouquet of white gardenias. Despite the previous late night at the engagement ball, he looked perfect: eyes sparkling, suit nicely tailored, and of course, the beautiful bouquet in his hand. Her heart sped up and her mouth curved into a welcoming smile.

And then she remembered…

He was not here to see her.

In fact, the Duke had studiously avoided her at the ball last night. He hadn't even asked her for a dance. Luckily, the Marquess of Baizen's son had been there to lead her through several dances, but if Serena was being completely honest, she would have to admit that the Duke's neglect had stung…and still continued to do so.

Which was silly. He was Blair's fiancé, for heaven's sake! It was just that the two of them had spent so much time together lately, talked so much that their initially good rapport had only strengthened and deepened. He was handsome and charming, sporting and kind. It was only natural that one should desire friendship with such a young man.

Except that she feared she desired more than his friendship. Maybe, just maybe she desired the man himself.

She was a terrible friend. There was no doubt of it. But, Serena argued to herself, what was the harm of a little crush, a flight of fantasy? It was—what did the British say?—a passing fancy. Once the wedding passed, he would simply be her friend's husband.

Blair would probably be amused if she knew. Which she didn't. And really, how guilty should Serena feel when just a couple of days ago Blair had gone walking with Mr. Bass…and then came home, talked to her mother, and went to her room and sobbed.

Another wave of guilt washed over Serena. She still felt responsible for ending her best friend's romantic idyll, wrong though it may have been. That was part of the reason she had so eagerly stepped in when Blair was not feeling well. If she could stand in for her friend, then maybe Blair could get the rest she needed and feel better. Now in hindsight, she wondered if she hadn't made some terrible mistake.

But Blair did seem to be feeling better lately. She was still eating like a bird and looking rather thin, but she seemed to be getting by on tea and toast. She also said the ginger the doctor had recommended was helping. If Blair was feeling better, then Serena was feeling better too.

"Are we alone?" The Duke looked around.

"Grandmother just left to find a hat for the wedding. We shopped yesterday afternoon, but she hated all my suggestions. She took Blair and Eleanor and Dorota with her today. Poor Dorota, there will be so many bags to carry home."

"You chose not to go?"

"I thought I might take a little catnap, since we were up so late last night. It was great fun, but I am a bit tired," she confessed.

"I kissed Blair last night."

The statement seemed to come out of nowhere and it took her by surprise. Surprise must be the reason for the sick feeling spreading in the pit of her stomach. It did not, however, explain the feeling of a sword to her heart and the voice inside her head that kept screaming, "No!"

She did not know what to say or how to respond. Of course he had kissed his fiancé. In a couple of days, he would be married to her and doing far more than that. Oh, God, she couldn't even bear the thought. "Hmm," she made some sort of noncommittal assent.

"And it was dreadful." He sounded miserable.

"I should think not!" she protested, more out of reflex than anything else. "Surely you have kissed her before?"

"Only once, when we announced our engagement. It was over very quickly. Last night's kiss was a real kiss…only I felt nothing."

"Nothing?" she echoed.

"Nothing like I felt when I kissed you at that costume ball in Paris."

"Oh." It suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"I didn't sleep. I've been up all night, wondering."

"Wondering?"

"Wondering if I was imagining things, remembering things that weren't there. That kiss we shared on the dance floor—it couldn't be as splendid as I'm remembering it…could it?"

She stubbornly refused to answer.

He came closer. "I suppose there is only one way to be certain…."

"Nate, I don't think this is a good idea-," her words were silenced by his lips.

She stopped thinking.

She felt tipsy (though she hadn't even had her afternoon tea yet) and giddy and a myriad of emotions that she couldn't name.

She forgot he was going to marry her best friend.

She forgot years of training that ladies did not behave this way.

He kissed her again and she forgot her own name.

Her entire world was Nate. Nate. Nate. Nate.

And when he held her tighter, when his hands began to explore the curves of her body, when her hair came down in golden waves, when he looked at her as though she were a goddess it was his duty and honor to worship…

She met him passion for passion and gave herself over entirely to him.

* * *

The day of the wedding dawned clear and bright. At the Waldorf townhouse, the only thing missing to add a touch more chaos was a crowing rooster.

Mrs. Waldorf declared that she was going on a sea cruise to relax when the festivities were over. She alternated between referring to the wedding as "this ordeal" and "my daughter's triumph."

Mrs. Rhodes was in a tizzy that her new hat, the one which had required multiple trips to a great many stores, had only arrived yesterday afternoon and one side of it was crushed. Dorota had spent the evening trying to coax it into a more presentable shape, but still CeCe was unsatisfied.

Serena had been acting strangely for the last two days, either hiding away in her bedroom or seeming to avoid the bride-to-be. Blair was confused by her actions, as they had very little time left to spend together before she left for her honeymoon and her new home in England. The girls had been together for so long that it was like leaving a sister behind. Perhaps Serena felt unsure how to say goodbye and feared becoming too emotional. Blair could only speculate because most of her thoughts were consumed with how she might avoid this whole thing and just go be with Chuck again.

The Dowager Duchess declared that she was tired of all the drama and was going to stay with her son until "the storm passes."

It was no less stormy at the Bass home, however, with Nate fretting over everything and Chuck still frantically taking meetings and trying to transact business.

Frustrated, Anne rang for Arthur and had him drive her around the park until it was time to leave for the church.

* * *

Dressed and ready, Serena peeked into Blair's room. The bride was standing in front of the pier glass, surveying her reflection. The gown was pearly white satin, nipped at the waist and flowing into a long, full skirt that ended in a ruffled train. Elaborate embroidered panels set with seed pearls and clear stones adorned the back of the skirt and matched the trim at the neck. Large leg o' mutton sleeves, the height of fashion this year, ended in silk gloves with a special cut-out designed for the wedding ring. The ensemble was topped with a heavy lace veil, which was held in place by the heavy and ornate Archibald family tiara, on loan from the Dowager Duchess herself.

She was beautiful, stunning…and then Serena saw her face…and gasped. Blair seemed unnaturally pale, in direct contrast to her red, swollen eyes.

"Oh, Blair," Serena took her hands and squeezed tightly. "Have you been up all night crying?"

Blair chose not to answer the question. "I shall be fine. This veil covers everything and I will not be taking it off until the ceremony is over."

"Dorota! DOROTA!" Serena shouted.

The maid came running from Eleanor's room. "Yes, Miss Serena?"

"We shall need some ice from the ice box downstairs, along with some water and some soft cloths. We will need to sponge Blair's eyes."

"I hurry," Dorota promised and was off like a shot.

Serena turned back to Blair. "You don't know how sorry I am that you are not marrying your Chuck today."

Blair gave her a watery smile. "I think that is the very first time you've ever called him by his given name," she observed. Then she closed her eyes to blink back the tears. "But don't, please don't. You don't know how long it has taken me to stop the tears. I shall be all right, as long as I have my best friend beside me to help me through."

"You will always have that!" Serena gave her a light hug, mindful of the gown and her train, then she dipped a handkerchief into the icy basin of water Dorota brought and began to slowly bathe her friend's tear-stained face.

* * *

An hour later, the party was ready to leave for St. Thomas' Church on Fifth Avenue, the fashionable site where just two years ago Consuelo Vanderbilt had married the Duke of Marlborough.

A small crowd had gathered outside the Waldorf townhouse. Some were journalists, some curious onlookers and one was a young man who had fallen under the spell of the Sun and the Moon on a transatlantic crossing and could not resist another glimpse of the muse who was rapidly filling his notebooks. All, however, wanted the same thing: to be the first to see Blair Waldorf in her wedding gown.

It was worth waiting through a society matron in a ridiculously large and elaborate lavender hat, the bride's beaming mother, the maid of honor looking luminous in palest pink, until finally the bride herself exited, followed closely by a maid carrying her train. No one could actually see the bride's face, as it was covered by the veil, but already whispers were going around that the future Duchess was by far the most beautiful of the Dollar Princesses, a queen among her subjects.

So excited was the audience that they almost missed the lone figure waiting by the open coach: the Prince of Wales, newly arrived in Manhattan to walk his beloved protégé down the aisle.

Blair tried to calm her churning thoughts as they drew nearer to the church. The day was lovely and she was so very privileged to have His Royal Highness to escort her. She did feel a pang, however, that her own father could not be here to see her wed. In fact, she didn't know when she would be able to see him again. She remembered going into the City with him as a little girl, perched on his shoulder so that she could see everything and, her father had said, "everything could see her." Now she was leaving her beloved hometown (such a quaint name for such a majestic place) and her childhood behind. Her life was forever changing. It could not help but feel bittersweet.

How different she would feel if she were marrying Chuck today. How thrilled and excited she would be.

But it was not to be.

They were in the church and already the first strains of the wedding march had begun to play.

"No, wait, stop, stop!" she wanted to scream. Although time seemed to have slowed to a crawl, it was not moving slowly enough to prevent this mistake and give her the proper groom. He had said he would try anything, everything…and he was Chuck Bass…surely he could do anything he set out to do?

Serena walked out of the transept first, followed by the Prince and Blair. At first, all Blair saw was a sea of faces, necks craned around to get a good look at her. They were a blur.

Then she turned her eyes to the altar. Her groom was there, looking handsome in a grey morning suit, but her eyes skimmed right over him to the gentleman on his right—the man she should be marrying, the man she was married to in all but name.

Their eyes connected, and she knew, even through the heavy veil, that he could see her.

Her heart began to beat fast and hard. It was suddenly very hard to breathe. It was so very warm in the church.

She heard the minister speaking, "We are gathered here today…"

What was she doing here? What had she done? This was so very wrong. She had to stop this. "I-I-," her mouth could not seem to form words.

She tried to keep her eyes focused on Chuck's, but little dark flecks appeared in her vision, growing larger and larger.

The minister's voice sounded further and further away, and everything grew hazy. The last things she saw were Chuck's beautiful eyes, looking concerned, and she thought she heard him call her name…

Then at last the panicked rush stopped and everything went dark and still.

To Be Continued in Chapter 12

* * *

Author's Notes: Welcome back to 1897 after a two-month hiatus. I promise I won't keep you waiting so long to find out what happens at the wedding.

What do you think that will be? Share your thoughts, theories and feelings about chapter 11 in a review. I'd love to hear from you.

Special thanks to all my readers and to my betas: Chrys1130, Almaloney33, Chairship and rayj829.

Until next time,

Xoxo


	12. Chapter 12

Last time in the Cageverse: Mrs. Eleanor Waldorf cordially invites you to the marriage of her daughter, Blair Cornelia, to….wait, what's that Blair is trying to say?

* * *

Chapter 12

Mr. Charles Bass had never been in better looks. And ironically, no one was looking at him.

No one…except the bride. She was in a heavily patterned veil, so most of her face was obscured. He did not know if she was impressed by his charcoal wool cutaway morning coat, the perfectly tied ascot in a silver shade that matched the groom's coat, or the purple damask waistcoat made from the fabric he'd so admired at Waldorf Textiles. It was a gift from Blair, as was the pewter one that Nate was wearing.

But it mattered little what Chuck was wearing. All he could think of as he stood there, just a few feet from her, was that he now had a front row seat to the death of his dreams, his future. And it was killing him.

If he could just see her face, know that she at least might be able to find some happiness…

He could not look away as the minister began speaking.

"I—I-," Blair was trying to say something…

And then she began to sway on her feet…

And then she was falling to the floor…

Panic overtook Chuck. He forgot that they were in a huge church in front of a throng of wedding guests. He forgot that she was in the process of marrying his best friend. Her name sprang from his lips as he shoved Nate out of the way and caught Blair before she hit the ground.

He lifted her as though she were light as a feather, and indeed she did feel thinner than she had the last time he had carried her upstairs on their 'honeymoon.' Good God, what was wrong with her? Had some quack told her she was fine when she was really desperately ill? The thought made him feel quite sick himself.

Chuck looked to Serena. "We need somewhere with windows that can be opened, so she can get air."

"There are some smaller windows in the anteroom by the vestibule," she suggested.

Chuck wasted no time. He hurried back down the aisle carrying his precious burden, trailed by Serena, Nate, Eleanor, the Dowager Duchess and Mrs. Rhodes, with Dorota bringing up the rear.

It was hard to say which was more startling: the bride's collapse or the best man's reaction. The wedding guests were agog and whispers of shocked surprise swept through the crowd.

Chuck did not hear any of them; he was busy placing an unconscious Blair on a tufted bench in the anteroom and yelling commands for windows to be opened and cool water to be fetched. And then he was trying to revive Blair. He kept calling her name as he knelt beside her, pushing the veil away from her face, then rubbing her hands and wrists.

"Why is it so damned hot in this place?!" he demanded, taking each of her gigantic sleeves in his hands and tugging on them with all his might. The threads yielded and there was a great ripping sound and gasps from the little crowd around them.

"Young man, that is a Worth original and you have ruined it!" Eleanor was furious.

"I do not care if the fabric was spun by the angels on high, madam. Do you not realize there is something terribly wrong with Blair?" His eyes were blazing and his voice shook on the last words. No one had ever seen Chuck Bass so discomposed before and everyone simply stared.

Mrs. Rhodes materialized with the requested tumbler of water and Serena took her fan and waved it vigorously around her fallen friend.

"I am…fine…truly…I am," Blair, just coming to, tried to protest. "But Nathaniel," she paused again for breath and courage, "I cannot marry you."

All eyes went to the bride and no one noticed that someone else slipped into the room.

"Blair, what is the meaning of this?" Eleanor demanded.

"I think I know what is wrong here," a masculine voice informed the company.

"Bart Bass! What are you doing here?! This is a private ceremony," Eleanor hissed.

Bart ignored her. "Miss Waldorf is ill because she is expecting a child."

The group gasped and Eleanor gave an ugly laugh. "Pfft, my daughter is a young lady who is suffering from bride nerves, a room that is too warm for comfort, and possibly an overtightened corset," she glared at Dorota and then back at Bart. "You have no idea what you are speaking of. Why, she's barely spent any time at all with His Grace since they became engaged."

Nate had suddenly become the focus of too many eyes and too much attention. "What?! I—no." He shook his head. "Blair and I? No," he said firmly, his eyes pleading with Serena to believe him.

Bart gave Eleanor a look that was almost pitying. "The child is my son's. It is my grandchild."

Chuck looked poleaxed. His hands, which had been clasping Blair's, squeezed even tighter and then one moved over to rest on her abdomen. He looked at her in awe. "Blair," his voice was almost a whisper, "is this true?"

Her hand came over to link with his. "It is not how I envisioned telling you," she said ruefully, and then she smiled, "but yes, we are having a child."

"We are having a child," he echoed. "We are having a child." It was stronger the second time and a smile spread across his face. "Was this what you wanted to tell me after our walk?"

She nodded.

"But Blair, I asked you if you thought you might be expecting and you said no, because…," Serena fumbled for the right words here.

Blair had no such problem. After carrying the burden of her secret around, she was happy to talk about it, embarrassment be damned. "The physician said it may have been implantation bleeding. He said it is not uncommon."

"Wait, you knew this was a possibility," Nate glared at Serena, "and you did not tell me? Even when I came by yesterday and pleaded for you to come down and talk to me. You would not even see me." Was it possible to sound angry and dejected at the same time?

"Natie, I couldn't! Truly! I couldn't bear to hear you apologize for what happened in the parlor…or for it to happen again, not when you were going to marry Blair." Tears welled in Serena's eyes.

"Natie?!" Chuck and Blair exclaimed in unison.

"What exactly happened in the study, my dear?" Mrs. Rhodes' face was crumpled in confusion.

Chuck and Blair shared a smile. They had a very good idea what may have transpired. After all, they too had been alone in a parlor…until Eleanor had found them and put an end to their engagement.

"So you see," Blair's voice was getting stronger. "I cannot marry you, Nathaniel, and I am sorry that I did not tell you sooner." She turned to her mother. "Mama," she addressed her in the way she had not done since she was a small child, "I wanted to do this for you, for our family, but you must see that I must do what is right for _my_ family. I love Chuck with all my heart and I want us to raise our child together, here in New York. I cannot imagine living without him. I kept hoping that there would be some way…."

"I tried," Chuck cut in. "Oh, my darling, I tried so hard. It is all I have been working on for weeks. If there had been any way to buy Waldorf Textiles…."

"Wait…this is what you have been working on so much these past weeks? Even your meeting this morning?" It was slowly beginning to dawn on Nate that there was much about his life that he did not know or understand.

Chuck nodded. "I am sorry that I have not been the friend you deserve. Perhaps you will think I did not act the gentleman or you will want to end our friendship…but I had no choice. I love her more than life itself."

"I know you care for my daughter, Charles," Eleanor sighed, "but the point is moot. It is too late. The banns have been read, the dowry is scheduled to be paid, the company has been sold-."

"To me," Bart interjected. "Waldorf Textiles is now owned by Bass Enterprises." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Was he…could he be smiling?!

"That is impossible!" Eleanor argued. "I sold it to—."

"E. E. Fisher and Company, as in Evelyn Elizabeth" Bart finished. "My late wife's dowry and part of Charles' inheritance. A bit of deception on my part, I'm afraid." He was still smiling. "It took a bit of wrangling, I'll admit. Your negotiation skills need work, Mrs. Waldorf; I would have paid far more."

"But why?" Chuck was perhaps the most surprised. "You told me you were not interested."

"You were quite adamant this was a good investment, so I looked into it and there is definite potential. I think you have inherited the Bass business sense after all." He turned to Eleanor. "Your daughter loves my son, and my son loves your daughter. I wanted to see how serious he was about her, and he is telling the truth, he has been to every investor, banker and lawyer on this continent and in Europe. For her. Because he loves her. I could not stop my son from losing his mother when he was born, but I'll be damned if I stand by and let him lose the woman he loves and their child."

Bart's tone had brooked no argument, but Eleanor still felt she had to put one up. "Well, this is rather late in the day to change plans, is it not?"

"Yes," the Dowager Duchess chimed in, "Surely there is something we can do to make this situation work?"

"I don't want to marry Blair, Mother. She is a lovely girl, but I want to marry Serena," Nate announced.

"Well, you cannot. Nathaniel, listen to reason," Anne pleaded. "Our home, our heritage, the estate and everyone living on it is dependent on you making the right choice. It is not just your life in your hands right now. The house and the estate and the title do not belong to you. They belong to all the generations that have come before and will come after; we are but a link in the chain. We need what Miss Waldorf can bring to Archibald Priory."

"You mean you need her money," Bart was cutting to the chase. "Well, we do not."

Nate moved closer to Serena.

Mrs. Rhodes sighed. "Oh, darling, I do wish we could give you a dowry like Blair's. I have invested the money your father left to the best of my ability and your mother has sent some funds from Europe, but it not enough to match Blair's. Perhaps it will be enough for the Marquess of Baizen's son."

Nate moved even closer to Serena. "No!" he was all but shouting. "You cannot marry that _insect_ , Carter Baizen! He was horrible to Chuck and me at school. You cannot marry him—you are mine!"

Two tears slid down Serena's cheeks. "I want to be."

Bart Bass coughed. "If I may?" He paused until he had everyone's attention. "As we have already established, it appears unlikely that Miss Waldorf and the Duke will be marrying today. Therefore, the dowry will remain with Miss Waldorf. We do not require a dowry. Miss Waldorf's funds shall remain her own and she may do with them whatever she wishes. Including adding to Miss van der Woodsen's dowry, if she so chooses. Or you can call it an investment in the Archibald estate."

Chuck and Blair nodded vigorously.

"I—we-," Serena's pride was rearing its ugly head, not wanting to be her friend's charity case. But no one had ever offered Serena everything she ever wanted before and the temptation was strong.

Her grandmother came to stand next to her. "We would be delighted to accept whatever terms Blair and the Archibald family deem fair. Young man, do you love my granddaughter?"

Nate smiled at Serena, his heart in his eyes. "How could I not love her? She is the most beautiful, amazing, alive person I have ever known."

Eleanor was not finished with Blair. "But our family name! Your father-."

"Is right here, Blair-bear." And out of the shadows walked Harold. "I could hardly miss my only child's wedding, could I?"

"Daddy!" Blair reached out and took his hands in hers. "I have so missed you today. I wish that you could have walked me down the aisle."

No one except the Archibalds seemed very surprised by Harold's appearance. And certainly not his father, Chuck thought. Apparently, Bart knew all about the Waldorf family's secret history.

"You still can," Chuck suggested.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what would people say?" Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Don't you care at all about our reputations, our legacy? I'm not going to be able to hold up my head in this town."

Once again, Bart came riding to the rescue. "Then go to Europe until the dust settles. Italy is lovely, especially Tuscany. You will have plenty to live on from the unused dowry and I'm sure my son will happily buy or rent a villa for you."

Chuck nodded. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today.

Bart continued, "I can assure you, Mrs. Waldorf, that Blair's legacy is safe with us. People will always be talking about her. About how beautiful she is, about how her husband and children adore her, about what she has done for this city. I intend to have her head up our charitable organization. Libraries, museums, whatever she thinks would benefit the city. Oh, people will know your daughter's name, and they will revere it. A hundred years from now, people will still be talking about her. I have a strong suspicion," he added dryly, "that she is very good with plans and schemes. I am sure my brother would agree."

Chuck and Blair tried to look repentant about her role in Jack's re-assignment to Paris, but they failed miserably and grinned at each other like idiots instead. Neither was quite sure how it had happened, but they found they might have an even bigger schemer than themselves on their side: Bart Bass.

"It is not up to me. Clearly I have no say in this," a touch of bitterness came through Eleanor's voice. "Are you sure this is what you want, Blair?"

Once again, all eyes turned to the once and future bride. She was still on the bench, leaning against Chuck, with one of his arms supporting her and his other hand still reverently splayed across her stomach. The way she was smiling seemed to light her from within and she was the very picture of why expectant mothers are said to glow.

"Three words, eight letters, Mother: I love him. I tried not to fall in love with him. I tried to stop it, to walk away from it, but I can't. And I don't want to. Please say that one day you will forgive me?"

Eleanor sighed, "Oh, Blair, surely you know that I did this for your happiness. If you believe this young man will make you happy-."

Blair smiled up at Chuck. "He already has. He's made me happier than I've ever been."

"If you are sure you are doing the right thing by following your heart…," she sighed. "I am sure to love Tuscany, especially when winter comes. Winter has always been nasty here in Manhattan."

"I shall put you in touch with one of our lawyers," Chuck promised. "His name is Cyrus Rose. He will help you find a place and make the travel arrangements. He's a funny little man, not exactly the sort you are used to dealing with, but I think you will like him."

"I shall not want to depart too soon," she cautioned. "Not until I've seen my grandchild delivered safely into the world."

"Our grandchild," Bart reminded her.

Eleanor made a face.

"You needn't look at me like I am something on the sole of your shoe. I give you my word that your daughter will be well cared for and treated like a princess."

Though she found Bart's words reassuring, she couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "She might have been one too, had the Prince of Monaco moved a bit faster." Eleanor softened the words with a smile and the whole company laughed.

A discreet knock sounded at the door and the Prince of Wales stuck his head inside. "I say, is Miss  
Waldorf feeling quite the thing now? Shall I send for a physician? Will the wedding proceed?"

"Come in, Your Highness." Mrs. Rhodes remembered her manners first. "I daresay Blair seems to be doing better."

"I am, and I do not require a doctor," Blair affirmed.

"Are you sure?" Chuck wasn't willing to take any chances. "Perhaps we should call for one to be certain."

"No, I am feeling better all the time now. The physician said it is normal to feel nausea, dizziness and even to have fainting spells at this stage. He said to take ginger for the nausea, which has been helping, and that the complications should all go away in a couple more weeks."

The Prince raised his eyebrows but said nothing. "About the wedding ceremony…?"

"I shall not be marrying His Grace today." Blair actually sounded quite pleased about that.

"You gave Archibald the mitten?!" He couldn't quite believe that his protégé was turning down the young duke's proposal at this late hour.

"I am rather hoping to wed someone else," she looked meaningfully at Chuck.

"Then let us settle this once and for all." Chuck dropped to one knee. "Blair Cornelia Waldorf, will you marry me and always be my family?"

"One word, 3 letters: YES!" She burst into tears and fell into his arms. "That was a lovely proposal, Chuck," she whispered.

"Practice makes perfect," he mumbled, still embracing her. "It is hardly the first time I have asked you."

"Now what about me?" Nate looked around, unsure what to do next.

"Mrs. Waldorf, Blair, are you agreeable to help Miss van der Woodsen's situation?" Bart was still making deals.

"I suppose so" and "Of course" were uttered at the same time.

"Duchess, is this agreeable to you?"

"This is very irregular," she noted, but she gave her son a nod that indicated her blessing.

The Duke did not kneel before Serena, but he took both her hands in his. "Serena, I can give you my title and my heart, but that is all I have. You would be taking on a great deal of responsibility and expense…and a house that may be falling down around our ears. If I am able to serve in the House of Lords, you will have to be lady of the manor and a political wife. There are countless reasons for you to decline, but if you say yes, it would make me the happiest man alive."

Chuck gave a loud cough.

"Well, one of the two happiest. Will you?"

"Natie, I cannot wait to be your wife. I love you too." She was interrupted by his picking her up and spinning her around.

"There," said the Prince, "now we have two grooms and two brides, and I have two arms to walk them down the aisle." He was beaming with joy. "Do we need anything else?"

Bart just had to negotiate a final point. "Would it be possible for your daughter to bring her maid with her? I'm afraid we don't have a lady's maid and I am sure Miss Blair will find a familiar presence comforting in her current condition."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Bass," Eleanor sighed. "One can only believe the stories about you owning half of Manhattan are true…or underestimated."

Bart smiled enigmatically.

"Dorota, I leave it up to you. If you wish to go with Blair, you have my blessing."

Her little maid's cap bobbed with great enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, please, Mrs. Eleanor." She had raised Miss Blair since she was a little girl, and now Miss Blair was about to have her own child. Of course she would not leave her now!

"One more thing," Blair broke in. "If it does not offend His Highness, I would very much like my father to walk me down the aisle this time."

"But Blair…," Harold began sadly.

"It is fine, Harold. It's not like we will have any reputation left to lose after today. My daughter has jilted a duke and will have an embarrassingly early 'honeymoon baby'." She looked pointedly at Chuck. "It had better be a very spacious Tuscan villa, young man."

"Only the best for you, Mother Waldorf," he drawled.

"For pity's sake, don't call me that again, Charles! Call me Eleanor if you must."

"Are we settled now?" The Prince asked again.

"What about marriage licenses and banns?" Mrs. Rhodes looked worried as the thought crossed her mind.

"My dear Mrs. Rhodes," Bertie smiled indulgently at her, "I represent my mother, Her Majesty the Queen, and the mayor of the city and governor of the state are both in the congregation today. I assure you, these unions could not be any more legal and binding. Allow me to go and make a brief announcement and then I shall return so we may start the ceremony again."

It wasn't until the Prince was gone that Serena noticed Blair's wedding gown, its sleeves now in tatters from Chuck's none-too-gentle removal of them.

"Dorota, fetch me a pair of shears. Serena, give me your long gloves," Eleanor was barking commands. Before long, Blair was clad in a sleeveless gown, made somewhat less shocking by the long white gloves borrowed from Serena. They also removed the tulle panel embroidered with the Archibald family crest from the back of Blair's gown.

The Archibald tiara was placed on Serena's head with no veil this time. "Oh, I wish we had something to put in Blair's hair," Serena opined.

"Maybe we do," Blair answered as she began unbuttoning the top buttons on the back of her dress, revealing a startling beautiful floral necklace with a heart in the center. "Maybe we can fasten this in?" By the time they were finished, it looked like a diamond diadem in her hair.

"Don't forget to cut a piece of her glove so the ring can go on," Mrs. Rhodes reminded them. "Oh, no, we don't have a ring!" As the Archibald family ring was now going to Serena, it looked like Blair's finger was doomed to be bare.

"Maybe we do," Chuck echoed his bride. He untied his ascot, and mimicked Blair in unbuttoning the top buttons and pulling out a chain. At the end of the chain, swinging in the light was most beautiful diamond ring! A collective gasp went up from the group. He removed it from the chain and handed it to the Duke for safekeeping.

"My ring!" Blair exclaimed.

"Always," Chuck grinned. "It has found its way back to you. Just as I have."

If the group was surprised that Chuck was carrying an engagement ring that purportedly belonged to Blair, they ignored it. There were simply things about Chuck and Blair/Blair and Chuck that only the two of them would ever or could ever understand.

Duchess Anne frowned. "It is so unlucky for the bride and groom," she gestured to the starry-eyed Chuck and Blair, "to see each other before the wedding."

"But I am so lucky, so happy," Blair marveled.

The Prince returned to tell the gentlemen to take their places once more until the ladies made their procession up the aisle.

Chuck squeezed Blair's hand one last time, kissing it. "I'll see you at the altar…Mrs. Bass." He added the last part under his breath so that only she could hear.

Blair took her father's arm. "Pinch me, Daddy, so I will know this is real and I am not dreaming."

"It feels like a dream to me. I only wanted to see your wedding and maybe catch your eye as you walked up or down the aisle. I never expected you to bring me back from the dead," he chuckled.

"It has been a most unexpected day," she agreed.

"Blair, I am so glad you are marrying your Chuck today. I could not be happier about your choice of husbands. I know you will be happy together; you love each other so much. And I am thrilled you have a little one on the way. But you know there will be a great deal of talk about your change of grooms, especially once that baby becomes apparent. Do you really want to reintroduce me to society on top of all that?"

"What?! Of course! Daddy, now I have you back, we are never going to be apart again. It is a day of dreams come true. Is it wrong that I want to live all my dreams today?"

"You should live your dreams every day, sweetheart. I want you to know how very much this means to me. Though if you don't see me at the wedding breakfast, please understand."

"I do, and thank you, for being here for me. I will write to you."

"And I will look forward to receiving your letters and to writing you back."

It was a very different Blair Waldorf who walked down the aisle this time. Her smile was radiant and she didn't care who saw that she only had eyes for her groom. Deep in her abdomen, she felt a slight fluttering, almost like tiny butterflies, but it lasted only for a fleeting moment. It was early, very early, to feel this, she knew, and maybe she was even imagining it. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if their baby was as excited as she was that they were officially becoming a family today.

It was happening. This was really happening, Chuck told himself for the hundredth time. But he still couldn't quite believe it. Maybe it wasn't Blair who had fainted earlier, maybe it was him and all the developments of the last hour were just a dream brought on by a blow to the head. How else to explain how all his dreams were coming true in one day? He was marrying Blair; they were having a baby; his father had taken his business advice and actually championed him and Blair; and lastly, Eleanor had somewhat accepted him to be her son-in-law. It was beyond his wildest dreams.

So lost was he in his reverie that he missed Nate and Serena's vows entirely and almost missed his own cue. Despite the many 3 word/8 letter combinations he could use today ("I am yours" being one that came to mind), he went with the traditional 2 words/5 letters: "I will."

He listened as she made the same response. Then he kissed her bare finger before sliding the ring back onto the hand where it belonged. He did not let go of her hand after that, not until the minister instructed that the grooms might kiss the brides.

He swept her into a low dip then, complete with a glorious kiss. He savored the feel of her hand against his cheek, knowing this meant as much to her as it did to him. "I love you," he whispered against her lips and although her lips were silent, her eyes and her heart were full.

The minister's voice carried through the sanctuary, "Presenting the Duke and Duchess of Archibald, and Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bass."

The congregation broke into thunderous applause. This was the most romantic (and dramatic) ceremony they had ever seen, and well worth the hour's wait for it to begin again.

Indeed, it was the wedding of the century.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by in a haze. The wedding breakfast was delicious, though Blair only picked at her meal. She did, however, eat a portion of wedding cake and the newlyweds giggled like small children doing so, because she managed to get frosting on the end of her nose.

Chuck insisted she go back to the hotel and lie down before they rejoined Nate and Serena for one last dinner before the ducal pair departed for their honeymoon in Paris. Before leaving the breakfast, they made sure to stop and thank Bart for his support and blessing. Blair tried to put into words what that had meant to her, but she was frustrated by her inability to do so. She finally burst into tears and embraced him, sobbing her thanks. Chuck hung back, far less demonstrative but no less grateful. His father surprised him yet again by looking somewhat embarrassed but not displeased by her display of emotion. Bart asked about the arrival date of his grandchild and was thrilled that the baby would be coming in the spring.

"I still don't understand, though, how you knew. I hadn't told anyone. At that time, I didn't even know myself. How did you guess?" Blair couldn't help but ask.

"My wife Evelyn, Charles' mother, was much the same. Very energetic, then suddenly completely exhausted. I just took one look at you and I knew. I also knew that I'd better move faster in acquiring that company. I didn't realize your wedding was coming so soon, because Charles was still meeting with investors. He never gave up, you know. I'm just glad I didn't have to stop the wedding during the ceremony."

"You would have done that for me?" Chuck still sounded shocked.

"Of course. You are a Bass, Charles. As I know from painful experience, Bass men only love once. That you love Blair so deeply and she feels the same—well, it would've been wrong for anyone to come between you, especially with my grandchild on the way. I knew the first time I met her and saw you both together that she was the one for you."

"Even while you tried to get me to propose to Georgina?" Chuck was skeptical.

"Especially then. If either of you had given up so easily, then Blair certainly wasn't the one. You are very resourceful, however, my dear," he gave Blair a rare smile of approval.

"Thank you. I look forward to working with you…and learning from you."

"We shall deal quite well together, I feel certain. Now go get some rest," he patted her hand, shook Chuck's and then moved back into the crowd.

"I have no idea who that man was and what he has done with my disagreeable father." Chuck shook his head and Blair laughed again.

* * *

After dinner, Chuck broached the subject of their honeymoon. Since Blair had been so ill, he suggested a short trip to Niagara Falls in favor of a long European tour. The Falls, located on the border of the United States and Canada, were a popular honeymoon destination, but admittedly less glamourous than one might expect a Bass honeymoon to be.

"My needs are simple, Bass. I just want you." She pulled him closer and kissed him senseless.

"You will have to help me, Blair. I don't want to hurt you." For once, the great Chuck Bass was unsure of himself.

"You will not hurt me or the baby," she reassured. "I am sorry you had to learn about our child like that, however."

"It was a surprise," he admitted, "but the very best kind. I could not be happier. And that it made our marriage possible is just one more miracle that happened today." His arms closed around her.

She leaned up and kissed him. "God, how I've missed you. There have been so many miracles today. I can scarcely believe it. When I woke up this morning, I was trapped in a gilded cage, and now I am free! Free to love you. Free to make love to you." Her hint was less than subtle.

"I am going to make love to you, Mrs. Bass," he promised, "until we both collapse. And I will never let you go."

"Say it again!"

"I will never let you go…Mrs. Bass." He carried her to the bed.

"Say it again!"

"You are mine and I am yours…Mrs. Bass." He pulled her atop him and began kissing her in earnest.

"Say it again!"

"I am going to make love to you all night…Mrs. Bass." His hands traced over her curves and his fingertips sank into the tender skin at the top of her thighs.

He expected her to, well, say it again, but instead she frowned. "My body will be changing a great deal, Chuck. It has already started. You may not like all the changes."

"Come here," he pulled her up and took her in front of the mirror. "And see how beautiful you are." He gently pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall down in dusky waves around her shoulders. And then he unbuttoned and unlaced her clothing and gently peeled it away from her body, until she was standing in front of him, bare in body and soul.

Then he studied her completely in the glass. "You are so very thin right now, and I can almost, just barely, make out the beginning of a bump right here. His hand ghosted over her stomach and then moved up to the areolas of her breasts. "And these are darker." He gently squeezed them in each palm and she gasped. "And obviously very sensitive.

"These are just the first changes, I know, but I love them and can't wait to see every single one. I will catalog each and every one for the miracle that it is and rejoice that it brings us one step closer to meeting our child. Someone that's part you and part me, Blair, created from our love. And I do love you so very much, Mrs. Bass."

"Say it again!" she whispered urgently.

"I love you, Mrs. Bass."

"I love you…."

They forgot the rest of the world once more as Chuck scooped up Blair and carried her back to bed.

He laid her down gently and then just looked at her, bemused. "I still can't believe this is real. You're here…and you're mine."

She reached up and removed his tie, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and pulling him down on the bed with her. "Always."

He paused for a second, swiftly removing his suit coat and thrusting it aside.

She made a little noise then, though whether from passion or impatience for him to return to her, he couldn't say.

Then he was touching her again. He wanted to go slow, for their first time as official man and wife to be reverent and sacred. But the fire between them was too much. They had come too close to losing each other forever and the relief they felt at being in each other's arms again was an aphrodisiac.

More…

More…

More…

They could not be close enough. He wanted to touch her everywhere and his hands flitted over their favorite spots: the porcelain column of her neck, the silky expanse of her back, the taper of her waist, the curve of her derriere, the velvety softness of her thighs…he couldn't get enough.

And the feeling was mutual. She kissed him until their breathing was ragged, her legs encircling his body and pulling him in closer, closer…until he was inside her again. The feeling of their bodies becoming one again was an intense surge, like lightning running through their veins, burning through them from head to toe. They cried out, and then slowed down, savoring every stroke, drinking deeply of every kiss….

Every part of her felt sensitized and attuned to him. Her cries of pleasure went from little purrs of approval to soft moans to screams of satisfaction. She didn't hold back, and neither did he, as they rode out the waves of pleasure, clinging to one another breathlessly.

"Do that again!" she demanded.

While he wanted to catch his breath, to bask in the glory of their physical reunion, he couldn't help but heed his lady's plea.

It was going to be a long, amazing night.

* * *

Chuck and Blair were not the only ones celebrating their union.

Bart Bass knew the art of the deal. He knew when to bow out, and when to go all in. His decision to place a bet on his son winning Miss Waldorf's hand resulted in enough winnings to nearly pay for Waldorf Textiles, now Waldorf-Bass Textiles. He had gotten a successful company that would only become more so, a new daughter-in-law, a more serious son and a grandchild on the way.

Arthur, coachman and servant to Mr. Charles and the new Mrs. Blair, had also placed his bet. He didn't have much to put down, but thanks to his faith, his winnings would be sending him to the seaside on holiday next summer.

Mrs. Rhodes had also won big, enough to keep her in hundred year old scotch for some time and to supplement Serena's dowry. Plus, now she had the satisfaction of knowing both her girls (for she considered Blair one of the family too) were settled with husbands who loved them.

Perhaps the surprise winner was Dame Beverly Camfield, who was right now drinking a toast of pink champagne in the newlyweds' honor. Perhaps it was wrong to be so gleeful about her winnings, Dame Beverly thought, especially since it was her friend Mabel who had seen the pair in Normandy and reported back to her. But no matter, the lady in pink decided, she would have bet on them anyway. "True love always wins!" she reminded her beloved poodles.

The Comte and Comtesse de Languedoc had no idea about the Bass wedding and wouldn't have cared a bit if they did. They were on their second honeymoon in the South of France. It was hard to believe that just a few short months ago, they had been on the verge of divorce. Then the Comte had discovered that the incriminating packet of love letters written by the Prince of Wales was missing. He was furious. He demanded to know what Comtesse Louise had done with them. She swore, quite convincingly, that she didn't know a thing. The Comte accused her of getting rid of them because she still cared about him and didn't want him to divorce her. Louise swore, this time not as convincingly, that this was not the case. But it was too late; the Comte had seen that she did care and he found it rekindled his feelings for her. This had led to a stolen kiss and a second honeymoon. They never learned that they owed it all to a midnight scheme by the Basses.

In a loft apartment in Brooklyn, Mr. Daniel Humphrey's typewriter was pumping out pages into the wee hours of the morning. Nothing could have prepared Dan for the shock of seeing the Duke leaving St. Thomas' with his new wife: the golden haired goddess with the little girl laugh…the former Miss van der Woodsen. Following directly behind them were Miss Waldorf and a dark haired man everyone began whispering was Chuck Bass. Not to be eclipsed, the second couple paused on the church steps and kissed for all the world to see. So Miss Serena was joining the British aristocracy and Miss Waldorf had hooked her Bass. How had this happened? The possibilities were endlessly intriguing. He was captivated. He watched until both couples left in carriages and could be seen no more. Then he went back to Brooklyn and began to type. It was the story of a lifetime, and he would tell it well.

But in a hotel suite in Manhattan, the new Mr. and Mrs. Bass slept on, blissfully unaware of all these things, sated and secure in the knowledge that they were together and in love and their future was bright.

To Be Continued in Chapter 13

* * *

Author's Note: I am so very excited that you are reading this chapter, as it was my great delight to write it for you. Yes, you! *points right at you* Thank you to all my _Gilded Cage_ readers, reviewers, followers and favoriters (is that even a word?!).

There are still developments in progress with this story, so we're not quite finished yet. I hope you'll be continuing the journey with me. And do please drop me a review or message and let me know what you thought about the wedding.

Extra thanks to Chrys1130 and Chairship for their beta brilliance. Thank you again, Chairship, for putting up with my new hobby of writing on holiday weekends.

Note: I was looking up Victorian slang expressions when I came across "giving/getting the mitten" in reference to rejecting a marriage proposal. Of course I had to use it! And who better to say it than Bertie?!

*sirens sound*

Officer: Is there some sort of trouble here? *looks closer* Um, aren't you two in the wrong story here?

OneSecret Blair: OMG, we have been trapped here in this limo for weeks, waiting for this wedding chapter to be finished so she will go back to writing _our_ story.

OneSecret Chuck: How dare she ignore us this way? I'm Chuck Bass. Even Victorians must know what that means!

Officer: Well, I'm sure you found something to do to pass the time, right?

OneSecret Blair: That's none of your business!

OneSecret Chuck: If there's anything we know how to do, it's keep a secret. *nods*

Officer: Be on your way then. And Mr. Bass? You might want to wipe some of that lipstick off your face now. And Miss Waldorf should probably smooth her hair. But don't worry, I can keep a secret too.

Until next time, dear readers!

Xoxo


	13. Chapter 13

Last time in the Cageverse: Blair walked down the aisle to become the Duchess of Archibald, but became Mrs. Chuck Bass instead. Second surprise? There's a baby on the way!

Chapter 13

Bart Bass lasted exactly one week living with his son and new daughter-in-law. While he had to admit that having the Waldorfs' former maid, Dorota, running the house greatly added to his comfort, living with a pair of starry-eyed newlyweds did not.

One would think a six-story brownstone with five thousand square feet of living space would provide adequate room and privacy for three family members and a small staff of servants.

It did not.

It started with the noise coming from their floor of the townhouse. It kept waking him up at all hours. Every night. Bart supposed he might feel some pity for the couple's impending sleepless nights once the baby came, but it wasn't like they were sleeping anyway.

Nor was anyone else in the household, more's the pity.

Then it was all the kissing. Every time he turned a corner in his own home, there they were in an enthusiastic embrace.

Or holding hands. They often held hands under the dinner table and seemed to think no one would notice.

They were wrong.

The new Mr. and Mrs. Bass seemed to regard married life as one long extended honeymoon and Bart had begun to feel like quite the interloper. Plans were already underway for them to build their own home, and it couldn't be completed soon enough for him.

The final straw had come when Bart returned unexpectedly early one afternoon to find them adding a whole new meaning to the lover's bench in the library. He slipped away quietly and immediately began plans to move to one of his hotels until the couple's new home was ready for habitation.

Despite the difficulties of adjusting to life together (or in separate residences), he really could not be happier about having Blair as part of the family and a new generation of Bass in the making. He had not felt so optimistic about the world since he had found out about his own son more than two decades before.

And that was why he was he here today, knocking on the door to his once and future home—he was definitely replacing all the furniture once he moved back—and waiting to be received. He was here to check on Blair and the baby.

When Blair and Chuck returned from their honeymoon trip to Niagara Falls, Blair had seemed to be doing well. There were roses in her cheeks, a spring in her step and she seemed far less tired and nauseous. She'd immediately plunged into plans for her new home with Chuck and also into learning about Bass Enterprises from Bart.

She'd toured factories, hotels and shops, absorbing everything with great enthusiasm. She asked intelligent questions and made occasional suggestions. Her mind was sharp and her ideas were good. Eleanor was a fool to have even considered wasting Blair's talents in some drafty old castle in the English countryside.

In spite (or maybe because) of the last-minute wedding switch, Blair was something of a celebrity on their little island. The social columns buzzed about her every move and photographers and illustrators clamored to get sightings. That Blair came from an old New York family, was startling beautiful and seemed overjoyed to be married to her untitled but richer-than-Croesus groom only added to the whispers and sighs. Blair sailed unconcerned through it all.

The whispers might have died off a couple months after the wedding…except that Blair's pregnancy began showing around Christmas and started them all over again. She went from not showing at all to appearing very pregnant almost overnight. Blair simply wore fuller gowns and curtailed her schedule a bit, but Eleanor began dropping hints about a larger villa in Tuscany until Chuck began to fear that nothing less than the Doge's Palace in Venice would satisfy her.

Still, Blair continued to be seen at the occasional event or party, and she was perpetually busy at home, discussing construction blueprints and business plans with Chuck all through the holiday season and into early 1898.

It wasn't until the first cold days of February that the trouble started. He was at a gala to raise funds for…some worthy charity—Bart barely paid them any mind, truth be told, simply writing a donation check before moving onto the next one. Suddenly, heads turned and whispers increased in number and volume. He didn't need to be told his son and daughter-in-law had arrived. They were flawless, as always, and seemed to be in good looks and health.

He was right beside them when, during a pre-dinner speech in which someone kept droning on about good works, Blair suddenly collapsed into his son's arms. For a moment, Chuck turned so white that Bart feared he was going to faint as well, but he rallied and simply carried her to another room and summoned the doctor.

She looked so pale and still and so very…expectant. Heretofore, Bart had been unconcerned about her size. She was carrying a boy—at least he assumed it was a boy; Basses always had boys—and he was going to be a big baby. Besides, Blair hadn't fainted since the earliest days of her marriage. She was going to be fine.

But she was such a tiny thing…and after Bart's bitter experience in losing Evelyn…well, he decided he'd best stick around and wait for word himself. As he stood outside the room that held Blair, his son and the doctor, snippets of the physician's conversation reached his ears.

"Heart palpitations."

"Excessive swelling."

"A dangerous pregnancy."

"Bed rest until the delivery…"

Bart's heart seemed to seize in his chest. It was like he was back in his own past, reliving losing Evelyn all over again.

He made up his mind that was not going to happen. Blair would have the finest of doctors and whatever was needed. His grandson would be fine and so would his daughter-in-law. They had to be.

He remembered the last time he'd spent with his wife. It had been a morning like any other: he'd left for the office and kissed Evie goodbye. She'd been smiling and wondering aloud if today was going to be the day their baby arrived. He'd told her to send for him if she needed anything.

And she had sent for him, as soon as her labor started.

But when Bart returned home, it was to total chaos and confusion. Maids and midwives running around, Evie crying out in pain, and there was nothing he could do but wait and hope for a miracle.

Hours (it had felt like years) later, his wife was gone and the crib in the nursery contained a dark haired, dark eyed miniature of her that seemed to have no trace of his father in him. The child's screams seemed to echo those in Bart's own head. What on earth was he going to do now?

He had tried to do his best, even though it felt like he had died inside that day too. He never felt like he was doing anything right, from the way he held the baby to the way he handled the trouble his son later got into at school. It was easier to just channel his energies into the business, the legacy he would leave for his son instead.

But look at Charles now: healthy, handsome, intelligent, well-educated and happy with his new wife and a child on the way. He surely could not have erred so very badly as a father then? For once, he actually felt as if he'd done his late wife proud.

He wanted to do the same for his daughter-in-law during her confinement, so he took to visiting her every couple of days. He would stop by and check on in her, bringing some of her favorite macarons or other little gifts to lift her spirits. Sometimes he would read aloud to her from one of the newest novels and they would discuss the story. He even found himself talking about his own family history, sharing little tidbits about his life with Evelyn or anecdotes about Chuck's childhood. She was such a receptive audience that he found himself growing ever more fond of her.

And ever more worried about her.

* * *

His wife's first startled cry woke Chuck Bass immediately.

"Blair? Blair!" Realizing she was still asleep, he gently shook her arm. "Blair, wake up."

Her eyes, hazy with sleep, flew open and her breathing became ragged. She was trembling as his arms came around her, pulling her close once more.

"Sweetheart, are you all right?" A shadow of fear crossed his face.

She gripped him tighter but seemed unable to speak.

"Are you in pain? Is it the baby?"

She shook her head. "I—I was dreaming…," she fumbled with the words.

"A nightmare?" He got up and poured her a glass of water from the decanter on the bedside table.

"Not exactly." She accepted the glass gratefully and took a few slow sips. "It was…strange."

"Strange how? Strange like the mystery of who that man was in our parlor this afternoon?"

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Your father?"

"He may look like my father, but he certainly doesn't act like him."

"What do you mean?" She still wasn't following.

"My father managed to ignore or barely tolerate my existence for years. Now he's here nearly every day with little gifts, pretending like he's in some sort of reader's circle with you…. Should I be worried my father is courting my wife?" He spoke in jest, but Blair heard the bitter undercurrent in his tone.

"Oh, Chuck, he has been so very good to me. Just today Mother was here and she was not pleased about my size. Bart scolded her and shooed her away," she couldn't hold the back the grin that memory produced.

Chuck frowned. He could imagine Eleanor must be having kittens over Blair's pregnancy body and giving her grief over it. He squeezed his wife's hands. "You do realize that you have never been more beautiful than you are right now?"

Blair sighed. "I wish that were true. Oh, Chuck, look at me! I'm enormous. My ankles and feet are so swollen—at least I think they are; I cannot even see them properly any longer. My face is all puffy and I'm so uncomfortable."

"I am sorry for your discomfort, but you are not unsightly to me. I love to look at you, to watch our child growing in you. It won't be much longer now and the baby will be here and you will be able to be up and about once more."

"It is like being in prison," she huffed. "I miss Serena and Mrs. Rhodes. I never realized how much I took for granted that Serena has always been with me in recent years. It is hard to be a whole ocean apart."

He took the glass from her hand and pulled her close again. "I am just glad that it is not you and I who are half a world away. You know that Serena will be coming to visit once the baby is born. I'm sure she is making adjustments to her new life as the duchess as well, especially since she did not have the chance to prepare for it ahead of time."

"It all worked out perfectly. Even better than we could have dreamed…or schemed," she smiled.

"Who knew that my father was scheming as well?" He still couldn't quite believe it.

"I am so grateful to him, Chuck, for so many things. For being your father, for helping us the day of the wedding…for being so anxious to meet his grandchild."

Chuck winced as if in pain. "I wish he could have mustered up one iota of that enthusiasm for my arrival."

"I don't think you realize how much he loves you. I love to hear him talk about your mother and tell stories about what you were like as a little boy."

"Why can't he talk to me about my mother? He never has, and I'm surprised to hear he knows anything about my early childhood. He never seemed to be home, always working."

"I am not saying he hasn't made mistakes in your upbringing, but do consider that on the very same day he lost the love of his life, he also inherited all the responsibilities of being two parents. I don't believe he knew what to do then, but I believe he's trying to make up for it now. Won't you let him try? For our child?"

He placed a hand gently on her now ample belly and she covered it with her own.

"I cannot wait to meet our child," he whispered. "To find out if it's a boy or a girl…"

"Your father is convinced it's a boy. He keeps saying, 'Basses always have boys'," she laughed.

"It matters not to me, as long as you and the baby are healthy."

"You aren't worried about having a son to pass the business to?"

"Not a bit. Henry VIII worried so much about a male heir. I wonder what he would have thought if he knew his daughter would be one of the greatest monarchs England has ever known-along with her present Majesty, of course."

"That's what my dream was about: our child in the future," Blair confessed. "I could hear his voice—maybe I think it's a boy too—but there seemed to be other voices as well, even a female one, I think. They seemed to be calling out to me. But I couldn't see, Chuck. There was mist swirling all around and I couldn't see. What do you think that means?"

Chuck said nothing for a moment. It could mean anything, but he worried it might mean that Blair couldn't see their family in the future because she somehow knew she might not be in it. The thought of a future without Blair terrified him. He wondered if his own mother had had any intuition about her mortality. There was no way to know.

Oh dear God, what if the woman's voice in Blair's dream was his mother?

The fear was almost like a sword to the heart. He took a breath and tried to force all the stress down, out of his voice, out of his mind. He had awakened Blair to soothe her and end her bad dream. He was supposed to be her safe place, her rock. It would not do for her to see him crumbling.

"I don't know," he finally responded, "but I do know that you and the baby need your rest." He lay back down on the bed and wrapped her gently in his arms, his hands massaging her limbs. "What can I do to help you sleep?"

She angled her lips up for a kiss. "I wish we could do what we used to before bed."

"Before bed, before breakfast, whenever we could find a time or place." The look on his face told her that he was missing that as well.

"Don't tease," she begged, "I miss being fully intimate with you."

He kissed her lips, then her cheek, then her neck. "I know," he sighed along with her, "but 'bed rest' does not mean 'bed play'. It won't be much longer now."

"Still love me?" she whispered.

"Always!" He continued to trace light circles on her thigh until she fell asleep, and then he lay there marveling at the love and luck he dare not take for granted.

* * *

"Don't discount a mother's intuition, Blair. Evie always knew Charles was going to be a son," Bart broke off as Chuck entered the library one afternoon a couple of days following Blair's dream.

"She did?" Chuck was surprised. He had never heard this before.

Bart seemed embarrassed to be caught speaking of his late wife, but to Chuck's surprise, he answered with a slight smile. "Oh, yes, she was always talking about 'when our little man arrives' and 'what will Charlie look like.' We were always making plans."

"Charlie," he echoed, struggling to reconcile his past history to the one that might have been had his mother lived. He felt Blair squeeze his fingers as she smiled up at him. He could not lose her. Their baby could not lose her. He never wanted their child to grow up without a mother….

Suddenly, he felt quite lightheaded and a crushing pain spread through his chest. His hand raised to clutch the area over his heart and he doubled over, almost falling into a wing back chair.

"Chuck! Chuck, what is happening?" Blair's face went instantly white and it looked as if she might faint herself.

"I am fine, Blair. I am fine. Please don't worry. It's bad for you…and our child," Chuck ground out, still in pain.

"Bart," she turned to his father, "please summon a physician right away. Please!"

Bart was on his way out of the room before she could finish the sentence.

As quickly as she could—although slowly and deliberately, to be sure—Blair sat up, put her feet on the floor and made her way to her husband's side.

"Blair, go back and lie down. You are supposed to be resting. My father is here. Arthur and Dorota and the house staff are here. I shall be fine."

"Not until I am sure. Chuck-," she began to protest, although she did take a seat on the velvet ottoman.

"No, it's you I am worried about."

"Why? I am following all the doctor's instructions. I am not the first woman to be on bed rest, you know."

"I cannot bear to lose you, Blair. You or our child. I need you both."

"But Chuck—"

"What if the voice you heard in your dream the other night was my mother? What if was a premonition?"

"But what if it was _my_ mother? Or Dorota? Or Serena? What if it means we are having a daughter? Or what if it means nothing at all? Dreams don't always make sense, you know."

"I have everything I have ever wanted in my life right now. You are my wife. Our child is on the way. My father has fully brought me into the business. My whole life has changed in the course of a few months. I just don't know if I can trust that," he confessed.

"Because it seems too good to be true? That is exactly why I do believe everything is going to be fine. We have not come so far to lose it all." She took his hand in hers and brought it to her lips. "I meant what I said the day of our wedding: I love you, Chuck, and I'll always be your family."

They were interrupted by the return of Bart with a man in a long black coat and a physician's bag. Blair moved to the side while the doctor conducted his examination of Chuck, listening to his heart and asking a great many questions.

"And this has never happened before?"

Chuck shook his head.

"You are a young man, Mr. Bass, but one who is under a great deal of strain right now. You are much too worried about her," he gestured towards Blair. "It doesn't happen a great deal, but I have seen this happen to expectant fathers before. I suggest you rest for a few days before returning to your normal activities. Try to relax and enjoy these last few weeks before you have a crying baby keeping you up at all hours." He smiled at the couple before taking his leave.

When they were alone again, Bart asked, "Is there anything I can do, Blair? Do you need anything?"

"Just to know that all is right with Chuck." The newlyweds were holding hands again.

"I will be back to the office as soon as I can, Father," Chuck promised.

"About that…," Bart frowned, "Charles, I really think it would be best if, for the time being, I handle Bass Enterprises as a whole and you focus on Waldorf-Bass Textiles."

The color drained from Chuck's face. What was happening here? He'd had one episode of chest pain and now he was being demoted? It stung. Until this moment, he had not fully realized how much being made his father's second-in-command meant to him.

"Are you…displeased with my work? I assure you that I will be fully able to handle things once they let me off this damn sofa," Chuck fidgeted and made a move to get up, only to be halted by Blair refusing to let go out of his hand.

"Chuck, please stay and rest," Blair begged.

"I have no issue with your work. On the contrary, I am very pleased with what you are doing for the company. This is not a demotion," Bart explained.

"It feels like a demotion," Chuck grumbled.

"This is only temporary, while you rest up and wait for your child to be born," Bart reassured him.

"But—."

Bart lost his patience. "Charles, did you or did you not insist that Waldorf Textiles was an excellent investment and filled with potential? Well, I am giving you a chance to personally prove to me that it is, and to give you time to take care of yourself and your wife. This is a very good deal for you and for the company. You would see that were you not so set on being stubborn. Good day to you, son. Blair." He shook Chuck's hand and bowed to his daughter-in-law.

Before he reached the door, he turned back to them. "That company is your child's birthright and future. You have an excellent advisor there," he gestured to Blair on the ottoman. "Make use of her. There never would have been a Bass Enterprises without E.E. Fisher."

And then he was gone, leaving Chuck and Blair to stare at each other in surprise.

* * *

Four days later—very long days according to Blair, who found that Chuck's confinement merely added to her own restless feelings—Chuck set out for the New York offices of Waldorf-Bass Textiles. He'd met with his mother-in-law to learn the origins of the business and how it had grown thus far; now he just needed to figure out where it was going.

It was easier said than done, but he found himself looking forward to the challenge. He also had to confess that he was more than a bit relieved to know that he'd be going back home to check on Blair in a couple of hours.

Blair had seemed a bit downcast as he left that morning. Typically, this type of fact-finding mission would be something they would undertake together, but her enforced bed rest put the kibosh on that. At least he could be eyes and ears for both of them and then they could discuss possibilities later at home. He always did his best thinking with Blair at his side.

After another tour of the warehouse and showroom, Chuck came back to the same conclusion he'd had the first time Blair had taken him to the Paris offices: the company had good products and was run well. There was no reason why it shouldn't be growing more.

He told Blair the same later that afternoon.

"So if we cannot improve things on our end, what can we do to increase awareness, increase customers?" she wondered aloud.

He was still considering that the following morning as he dressed. He was pleased to see that Arthur had put out his purple damask waistcoat that he had worn at his wedding. The style and design certainly showed off the quality of the material….

And then he got the idea. He finished dressing quickly and hurried down to the breakfast room, where Blair was already picking at a light breakfast of bread and fruit.

"Is that all you are having this morning, sweetheart?" He looked concerned.

Blair forced a smile. Truth be told, she did not feel at all like eating this morning. The baby seemed to be moving a bit more than usual and she had already had a few random pains. She dare not tell Chuck, however, and cause him more worry. "Of course not, silly! It is just that it is often easier to eat smaller meals at this stage."

"I see. I have an idea. Blair, tell me how this waistcoat came to be."

"Came to be? You mean, how was it made?"

"Exactly!"

"Well, I made sketches of the design I wanted for you, then I sent those to the seamstress and she cut out a pattern from the fabric I chose and stitched it up."

"I was thinking," Chuck went on, "that if we had samples of clothing made with our fabrics, we could increase our sales. Show them the possibilities of the materials, rather than fabric swatches or bolts."

"Oh, Chuck, I think that's a wonderful idea!"

"I also hope to market to the mail order companies. I think that's a shopping sector that will only continue to grow. We are fortunate to have all of Manhattan to shop, but people living in small towns or in rural areas have limited choices. We are not just selling fabric; we are selling options. We are selling them the world!" He gave her a quick kiss before leaving to go build their empire.

* * *

It was mid-morning when the pains began in earnest. "Dorota, I think the baby may come today."

Dorota had her doubts. "Oh, no, Mrs. Blair, it much too soon. You go upstairs and lie down. I send for Mr. Chuck and Mrs. Eleanor and doctor."

Blair winced as another contraction went through her. "No, Dorota, please don't! Chuck has been so worried. He will be home shortly, I'm sure. I don't want him to worry a minute longer than he has to. I will be fine."

The maid looked dubious.

Blair willed herself to relax, to push the pains away. It did not work. An hour later, her water broke and Blair panicked. She knew this meant the baby was coming today for certain, but her due date was still a month away. What would this mean for their baby? She screamed for Dorota.

"You let me call for Mr. Chuck now?"

"No! Just call for my mother, the midwife and the doctor." Bart had insisted she have a doctor present for the delivery should anything go wrong. At this moment she was so terrified she felt grateful for his plan.

"Miss Blair, you too stubborn!" In her excitement and worry, she forgot to address her charge by her married name. "So hardheaded, like you have rock in head."

Exasperated, Blair reverted back to childhood herself and stuck her tongue out at Dorota. "You let me worry about what it is in my head; you worry about getting my mother and the others here."

An hour later, the midwife and doctor had arrived and confirmed that, yes, today was the day Baby Bass would arrive.

"Is it too early? Will he be all right?" Blair needed to know. The doctor's answer that every child was different and they would be giving her the best care was still too vague for her liking. "Dorota!" she bellowed again, "where is my mother?"

"Mrs. Eleanor not home when boy delivered message. He left word with maid there."

Great! Here she was, in labor and all alone with strangers, and her mother was off gallivanting who knows where.

"I send for Mr. Chuck instead?" Surely Blair would change her mind now.

"NO!" Blair screamed as the pains started coming faster.

* * *

Chuck was very satisfied with today's work and could not wait to tell Blair all about it. He was quite optimistic when he opened the front door and walked into the foyer.

Then he heard the cries of distress from the floor above.

He took the stairs two at a time and burst into their bedroom.

"Blair, what's going on?!" He all but shouted it.

Even in the midst of her pains, she turned a pale, perspiring face to him and smiled. "It appears our child has chosen today to discover America."

"So early?" He started to sit down on a chair near the bed.

"Don't get comfortable, Chuck. You can't stay here." Blair was firm.

"Why not? You're here, and the baby will be here soon. Here is exactly where I should be." He was confused…and a little hurt.

"Chuck, I won't have you worrying and putting your health at risk. I am fine and the doctor and midwife are here to see our son safely into the world."

"It could be a daughter, you know," he reminded her.

"Maybe, but I still think it's a boy."

"Only because my father has convinced you of it," he snorted.

"Quit arguing with me. Go have a scotch, read the newspaper, relax."

"Don't you want me here with you? We are stronger together, Blair, you know that. Let me stay with you."

Blair hesitated. She felt so much better just having his presence beside her. But she dare not risk his health for her own comfort. She could be a powerful woman…for him and their child. "And we will be together, as soon as this baby is born."

He knew he had been dismissed. "As you wish. But I will be right outside this room, ready whenever you need me."

She might be a powerful woman, but he was her match and this was as close to winning as she was going to get. She nodded.

He pushed back a damp curl and kissed her forehead before squeezing the hand that was resting on her abdomen. "I love you and I am going to love our child as much as I love you. I already do."

As soon as he left the room, she was immediately sorry. The pains kept coming faster and her teeth ached from clenching them to prevent crying out. She would be strong, she would not worry him.

But she was so very scared.

And he was so very close.

It seemed wrong that a mere door should be separating them.

She could be brave just a little longer….

* * *

"Chuucck!"

He was on his second scotch when she finally surrendered and called his name. Truth to his word, he was there in a second.

Tears formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks as he took her hands again. "I'm sorry. I don't want to scare you. I just need you here with me."

"We need each other and we should be together to welcome our child into the world, should we not?"

She mustered a wan smile as another birthing pain caused her to clamp down tightly on his hand. "I'm going to break your hand," she grimaced.

"Better my hand than my heart. Please don't send me back into the hall," he joked.

"Mrs. Bass," interrupted the midwife. "I need you to start pushing for me, please. It's time."

"Are you ready, Blair?" He was right there with her, in body and spirit.

She nodded and began to push.

It felt like forever, but it wasn't long before the midwife was holding a precious bundle, taking him in her arms, and announcing, "Mr. and Mrs. Bass, you have a son!"

Chuck beamed and Blair grinned. "Told you so!"

"How is the baby? How is my wife?" Chuck wasn't going to relax until he knew.

The doctor inspected the baby, giving him a clean bill of health, then handed him back to the midwife to clean up while he looked over Blair.

"Oh, dear, this is not what I expected," he muttered under his breath. "Nurse," he barked at the midwife, "come here and tell me if I see what I think I see."

"Oh, my, yes, I see it too!"

"What? What do you see?" Chuck's fingers tightened around Blair's as she cried out again in pain.

As if on cue, the baby, still in the midwife's arms, began to cry. Flustered, she handed him off to the nearest person, who happened to be Chuck. "Here, you take the first baby!"

"The first baby?!" Chuck and Blair exclaimed at the same time.

"Yes, the other one is ready now, I think. I'll need you to push again, Mrs. Bass."

And then there were two Bass babies. Squirming and squalling and delighting their thoroughly surprised parents.

"May I present your second son?" The midwife held him up with a smile.

Blair hardly dared catch her breath. "There aren't any more in there, are there?" And everyone laughed.

"No, Mrs. Bass, you may rest now. You have two healthy looking sons and you seem to be doing well also."

"Better than well. Right now I am just perfect."

There was a loud rapping at the door. "Charles? Blair? May I come in?" Bart Bass was already opening the door before they could respond. "I stopped to pay a call on Blair only to find…," he broke off as he surveyed the scene in the room.

Eleanor was close behind him. "Bart, I told you we should wait downstairs until we were invited up. You have no social sense whatsoever!" She stopped in mid-rant as she saw the babies. "Two?!"

Chuck and Blair both grinned.

"Two sons," Chuck informed them.

Blair did the honors: "May we present…Mr. Henry Charles Bass, and…"

The midwife handed off the second baby to an awkward but overjoyed Bart.

"I'm afraid we hadn't chosen a second name." Blair wrinkled her nose in thought.

"What about Alexander?" Chuck suggested, "A conqueror and adventurer…and quite a surprise!"

Blair nodded. "Mr. Alexander Bartholomew Bass. Boys, meet your grandparents."

Bart stood stupefied, looking down at the little person in his arms, who he'd swear just looked up and winked at him. Oh, yes, he would keep an eye on both these boys.

What a contrast to the day when Charles was born! That day, Bart had felt like the most unlucky man on the planet, his wife gone and a son to raise alone. Today, he felt just the opposite: a son and daughter-in-law; an heir and a spare; a company that was sure to enrich his empire.

It was a good day to be Bart Bass.

As he looked over at his son and Blair, both studying Henry with loving reverence, he decided it was a good day to be a Bass, period.

To Be Continued in Chapter 14

* * *

Author's Note: The babies are here! And I can't tell you how excited I am to share that bit of news. I've been sitting on it for quite some time. You can thank Chrys1130 for the twins idea. Henry was supposed to be just Henry, and then she had to ask, "How do we know it's just one baby?" I had no good answer for that, so Henry became Henry and Alec.

I have never been pregnant nor given birth, so if I've made any errors in describing those conditions, please just smile indulgently at me. Like Prissy said in _Gone With the Wind_ , "I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies." That is my disclaimer too.

Special thanks to Shrk22 for being warm, witty and wonderful; also to Almaloney33, who claims to have "devoured this chapter in less than 10 minutes,"—I can't even do that, and I wrote the darn thing! I do wish I could read and write faster.

Speaking of writing, my next project will probably be an update to _One Secret I'll Never Tell_.

I love hearing from my readers (special shout-out to Victoirepeonies and Ishi). It always brightens my day and makes me smile. Your kind words and encouragement mean so much more than you will ever know. Reviews, follows and favorites are like chocolate for the soul.

Mmm, chocolate!

Until next time,

Xoxo


	14. Chapter 14

Last time in the Cageverse: The newlyweds settled into life together and welcomed the arrival of their twin sons. What other surprises await?

Chapter 14

It was a sunny afternoon in August of the Year of Our Lord 1901 when Bart Bass stepped out of his carriage and onto the sidewalk in front of his son and daughter-in-law's home at Fifth Avenue and 77th Street in Manhattan.

As always, Bart had to marvel at the architectural artistry of the place. It was three stories tall, with a white limestone face and blue slate roof and trim. It looked like someone had taken a French Renaissance chateau and dropped it right in the middle of the city, but somehow, unexpectedly, it seemed perfectly at home. It bordered Central Park, and indeed the park had a lovely view of Chateau Bass (as the press called it) and vice versa. The area was known, with good reason, as Millionaire's Row.

For the life of him, Bart, who'd lived most of his adult life in a hotel or an understated brownstone, couldn't understand their choosing it. He'd asked Charles about it once, shortly after the twins were born and they were ready to move in, and Chuck had surprised him in is reply. "When Blair married me, she gave up her chance to be a duchess and live at Archibald Priory. I never want her to regret that decision. It looks like a castle because she is its queen, and mine. Do you not agree?"

Bart could hardly argue. Everyone knew he doted on his beautiful daughter-in-law and his twin grandsons, who had just turned three in the spring. Blair had been a brilliant addition to their family and their company, bringing her knowledge of Waldorf-Bass Textiles. That success had multiplied when Charles had decided to market their wares using sample garments to showcase the quality of materials and the possibilities it could produce. When one of his son's first marketing visits had resulted in an order for seven hundred waistcoats rather than bolts of fabric, the young couple had simply converted their business to garment making instead. It had been an instant success. The company continued to grow at an amazing rate.

As did the Bass family.

In fact, Bart was here today because Blair was due to give birth to his third grandchild at any moment. As much as he had firmly declared (and believed) that "Basses always have boys," he couldn't help but wish that maybe, just once, it might a little girl with her parents' dark good looks accompanied by her mother's spirit and the mischievous gleam in her father's eye.

He rang the bell. No one answered, although he could hear movement on the other side of the door. He turned the knob slowly.

Out of nowhere, a missile in the form of an overexcited toddler came barreling at him and latched onto his leg. "Grandpapa!"

"Grandfather," Bart corrected absently, looking over the little boy's shoulder to spy Eleanor Waldorf coming down the stairs and carrying his other grandson.

"But you let -," the little boy started to protest.

"I let Alexander call me 'Grandpapa' because that is a special thing between us. Just as our driving downtown and going up in the tallest building is between us, Henry. Don't tell me you were masquerading as your brother again." He gave the boy a look designed to intimidate him into good behavior.

To Henry's credit, he only looked a little nervous. "But Alec is your special boy!" He gestured to his brother, who had joined them and was now holding his grandfather's hand, a feat no one else dare attempt.

"Henry, come over here and hold Grandmere's hand. You know you are my special boy," she reminded him, flashing a glare in Bart's direction.

The Bass boys knew they were loved equally and amply by their parents. Their grandparents, on the other hand, played favorites shamelessly, much to the twins' delight. The only thing more entertaining than trying to switch identities and fool people was failing miserably with their grandparents, which they always did. They also loved to watch the two titans squabble with each other, with Alec and Henry taking sides of their own. Despite their young ages, the boys seemed to sense that the infighting between their relatives was a source of pleasure rather than actual irritation.

"Your grandmother is speaking in jest. You are both my special boys, just as your new brother or sister will also be special to me." He looked at Eleanor. "Do we know anything yet?"

"Not yet, only that today will no doubt be the day."

"What do you think the baby will look like, Grandfather?" Henry piped up.

"I think if it is a boy, he will be as handsome as your father, and if it is a girl, as pretty as your mother."

"But Grandpapa Bart," Alec pointed out, "you are Papa's papa, are you not?" At Bart's nod, he continued, "But Papa looks nothing at all like you."

Eleanor's eyes shot to his face and saw the shadow of pain flash across it. It was an innocent question, but it had wounded nonetheless. "Do not be rude, Alexander," she cautioned.

"That's a fair question. You see, boys, children tend to take after one parent or the other, and your papa looks just his mama, your Grandmother Evelyn. That's why he's so handsome and why you will be handsome too." He ruffled Alec's dark hair.

"Do we look like Papa or Mama?" Henry asked Alec.

"Never you mind. I think you are the best combination of both your parents, and lucky for you, they are both very attractive. But just you remember that handsome is as handsome does. It is only well behaved boys who get to go to the park with their grandmother." She was dangling the carrot in front of them.

Both boys stood up straighter and promised that they would be very good indeed. Their eyes were so big and bright and their smiles so sweet that she almost believed them.

"It is rather warm out there today. Perhaps I should go along and we should stop on the way back for ices. That is, if your grandmother does not object." The look he gave Eleanor was a dare.

"Fine," she sighed and rolled her eyes before offering him her arm. "Dorota!" she called up the marble staircase and the flushed, harried maid came out to the landing.

"Yes, Mrs. Eleanor?"

"Mr. Bass and I are taking the children to the park. I trust all will go smoothly?"

"Oh, yes. Baby stubborn and want to make entrance, like Mrs. Blair."

They enjoyed a leisurely afternoon and when they returned two hours later, it was to a loud wail from the second floor.

They looked at each other in amazement as they rushed up the stairs, twins in tow.

The new parents were sitting together on the bed, regarding the dark haired bundle in Blair's arms and each other with awe and joy.

"This is Miss Charlotte Evelyn Bass," Chuck made the necessary introductions.

Eleanor gave Bart a smug look. "Basses always have boys, hmm?"

"I have never been more delighted to be wrong," he declared, before pointing out, "Aren't you supposed to be off somewhere in a villa in Venice right now?" Although his son had purchased a lovely Italian home for his mother-in-law, the lady herself had yet to set foot in it.

"My dear Bart, I could not possibly leave now. Things around here are just getting interesting." She gestured toward their growing family.

"There's just one baby?" Alec sounded disappointed. Surely all worthy babies arrived in pairs, as he and Henry had.

His father nodded and his mother smiled.

"And even worse—it's a girl!" Henry wailed.

Oh, yes, life had just gotten very interesting indeed.

* * *

1907

"Mama, I am going to take Liam to the park to feed the ducks," nearly-six-year-old Charlotte announced. "May I?"

Her mother turned away from her guest, Serena, Duchess of Archibald, and smiled. "That is a fine idea, Charlotte, but have you asked Liam what he wants to do? He is our guest, you know. Perhaps he wants to stay and play with your brothers?"

The miniature feminine version of her husband looked back at her in confusion. "Why on earth would he want to do that?" She turned to Liam's mother. "Auntie Rena, I know Liam is supposed to be a boy, but Henry and Alec are boys and they are odious. Liam is magical, so I don't believe he really is one," she confided.

Serena did her best to keep the smile off her face and out of her voice. "Well, not all boys are the same, dear."

"And is it true Liam is really the Marquess of Carrington?" She didn't even wait for an answer before asking her mother, "Mama, do Henry and Alec have titles?"

"No, Charlotte, your brothers will grow up to be Mr. Henry Bass and Mr. Alexander Bass. We don't have titles here in America."

"My name is Lottie! Liam said so." Since seven-year-old William had sweetly referred to her as 'Little Lottie' upon their arrival, Charlotte had refused to answer to anything else. "And I do too have a title. Daddy says I'm his princess."

"I am sure he is right, Lottie." Now that she was married to a member of the House of Lords, Serena was skilled at being both a political hostess and a goodwill ambassador.

The little girl raced out of the room to find her partner in crime, all the while yelling for Dorota to find some bread crumbs for the ducks.

Her mother sighed. "That child will be the death of me."

"Only because you were probably just like that at her age," Serena wisely surmised. "Honestly, though, I look at your children and my own William and our wonderful husbands and I wonder how we got so lucky."

Blair nodded. "I am so amazed how fast the boys are growing. They are becoming their own little men, so different. They fight like cats and dogs most of the time, but let anyone else challenge one of them and they are each other's staunchest defenders."

"They look so different now," Serena marveled. Although believed to be identical at a young age, the boys had started showing their differences at age three. Alec was a bit taller than Henry, and more angular of face. Most startling of all, Alec's eyes, once as dark as his brother's and their parents', lightened to amber, then copper…then green…and finally settled into a clear blue.

"His eyes?" Blair smiled. "Yes, Mother has accused Bart of somehow engineering his favorite grandchild to look more like him."

"How are Bart and Eleanor these days?"

"Probably bickering their way across Italy, even as we speak. Bart had some business in Rome and suggested Mother come along and finally see her villa in Venice."

"I'm surprised she agreed."

"I don't think his motives were entirely pure. I suspect he thought she would use his time away to undermine his status with the boys."

"It is rather convenient that each favors a different boy."

"Oh, the boys are still rivals, still competing for favored status with both grandparents; they just have different methods. It's funny, they learned to crawl on the very same day, but Henry crawled towards us and Alec crawled towards the front door and we had to catch him. They have their own paths, and Chuck and I try to encourage them."

"Henry is quite the little artist now, isn't he? He always has his sketchbook and he loves buildings. I still have his drawings from the Priory last year. And Alexander is interested in…."

"Absolutely everything! He wants to know how things work, how they work together. They are both going to bring wonderful things to the business one day. In the meantime, they each like to have a sphere of influence. Poor Liam! I fear he would be quite torn in two in the tug-of-war between them, but for Lottie sweeping in and stealing him away whenever she can."

"He adores her, you know. Seeing her and the boys was all he could talk about on our passage over."

"I don't know what Lottie will do when the boys go off to Eton. Probably try to smuggle herself in as well. However shall the school stand?"

"Well, Eton did manage to withstand having Nate and Chuck at the same time," Serena pointed out.

"Did I hear my name?" As if on cue, Chuck stepped in, incongruously dressed in a long duster coat, goggles and gloves. The Duke and the twins brought up the rear.

"Mama!" Henry was practically jumping up and down. "You will never guess what Papa has just bought."

Blair gave her husband the side-eye. "A rather unflattering overcoat and some ridiculous goggles?"

Chuck and Nate grinned, as Alec interjected, "No, Mama, it's a…," he paused for dramatic effect, "motorcar!"

Blair frowned. "Oh, Chuck, surely not. Those things are noisy and dirty and go much too fast for safety…"she trailed off as she saw he had a box behind his back. "What is that?"

"A gift for you, my love."

"It will not make me like it," she predicted.

"I am not asking you to like it, merely to try it with me."

She opened the box. "A veiled hat…and gloves…and an equally unflattering overcoat for me," she sighed.

"Nonsense, sweetheart, even a sack would be flattering on you. Come, say you will try the new motorcar with me. The boys all thought it was great fun." He looked for confirmation to his best friends and sons, who all nodded vigorously.

"But Chuck, I have designs to look at here…"

"They will still be here when you get back. We won't be long."

"But Serena is here…."

"Oh, Blair, I don't mind if you and Chuck go for a drive. Nate and I can walk over to the park and find Charlotte and William and Dorota."

"Fine," Blair huffed, giving in if only to gain respite from their nagging. She stood up and began to put on the hat. "But I will not wear those silly glasses…unless it's absolutely necessary."

Outside, at the carriage house, Blair looked over her husband's new purchase. "It is very shiny and looks to be made of quality materials," she admitted.

"Do you think I would have bought it were it anything less than the best?"

"Hmm," she was noncommittal as she got in and settled herself.

"Do you trust me, Blair?" He was giving her that look again, the one she'd never been able to resist.

"Chuck, do you really believe these will one day completely replace the horse and carriage?"

"I do. You are sitting in the future of transportation."

"And it is moving rather quickly," she remarked of their speed, which was fast approaching double digits.

Everyone who was anyone knew who the Basses were, so the sight of them driving a new motorcar down Fifth Avenue in the middle of the afternoon created quite a stir. There were shouts and waves and Blair found herself smiling and waving right back. Still, she was not entirely sure she enjoyed the experience. That feeling showed on her face when they returned to their home. Chuck noticed it and had a thoughtful look on his face as well, but, in the excitement of their family and friends rushing out to meet them, no one made mention of it.

They were in their bedroom later that evening, getting ready to turn in, when Chuck came up behind her, planting a kiss on her shoulder and whispering into her ear, "Come for a drive with me, I have a surprise for you."

She looked at him with a question in her eyes.

"I don't believe you enjoyed our little drive this afternoon very much, so maybe that can be salvaged."

She was ready to deny that and turn down his offer when he held out the driving hat and gloves.

"Please," he whispered against her ear. Shivers went down her neck, goose bumps rose on her arm and butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Perhaps ten years had passed and three children had been born, but she was no less immune to his charms than she had been at the ball the very first night they met.

They dressed quickly and stole down the marble staircase hand in hand with utmost stealth. It reminded Blair of their first shared scheme stealing back the Prince's letters from the Count's home. A little smile perked the corners of her mouth.

When they stepped outside, Blair's little smile turned to an 'o' of surprise. For it was not the new motorcar sitting outside the carriage house waiting for them…

"Is that…?"

"The carriage we took home from Moulin Rouge, yes. I had it sent over some time ago. I've just been waiting for the right time to show it to you again. Come on, let me help you get in."

She nodded to Arthur on the coachman's seat and then took Chuck's hand and stepped inside the carriage.

Chuck climbed in behind her and settled in, absently picking up the ends of the driving veil that was still on her head. "You know, I was confused at first. It is not like you to be uninterested in new trends and gadgets, and then it occurred to me: perhaps you don't want to lose the memories we've made in this carriage."

She started to protest, but he shushed her and began to untie her veil. "Here, let's get this off so I can see your face. Remember that ball in Paris? I walked in and saw you…and I haven't looked at anyone else since. That was ten years ago and you are even more beautiful now."

Moved, she went to give him a kiss, but he'd already turned his attention to her driving gloves. He gently tugged at each fingertip until her hands were bare before him. One by one, he placed slow, lingering kisses on the pad of each finger and her thumb, before trailing his lips across her palm. She gasped.

"Just like at the Palais Garnier opera house. I wanted so desperately to hold your hand."

"As I did yours. My heart was beating so hard…I thought the whole theater could surely hear it." He could hear the smile in her voice, even if he couldn't see it.

"I kissed you that night, for the second time. I had to."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because the first time I kissed you, on the terrace at the ball, I couldn't eat or sleep. I had to find out if it would happen again. I was under your spell even then."

"Are you still?" she inquired. "Let us find out." The breathy undercurrent in her voice seduced him. And then they were in each other's arms, tongues daring and dancing….

"Mmm…." Was that her...or him?

"You know, I have probably kissed you a million times since then."

"And?"

"I am just getting started," he promised, his lips trailing kisses down her neck. "Why are you wearing so many clothes?" He began unbuttoning her driving duster and her fingers went to the buttons on his as well. "Do you remember the night we went to the Moulin Rouge?"

"I could hardly forget that, Chuck!" She was unbuttoning his jacket now.

"You'd been dancing on the stage…and your face was all flushed…and your hair had come unpinned and fallen down…." His fingers deftly freed her hair from its prison of pins until it hung in waves over her shoulders.

"I thought you could not possibly be more beautiful than you were then. But I was wrong, because you just get more beautiful all the time." He slid to his knees on the floor of the carriage. "I asked you something important."

"You asked me to be your wife, and I should have said no because I was already promised to Nathaniel—at least as far as my mother was concerned. But I couldn't resist. From that first moment at the ball, I was always yours."

He slid her shoes off her feet and began to kiss his way up the silky expanse of stocking.

Oh, God, she could feel the warmth of his breath through her stocking all the way to her skin, skin that was aching, begging to feel the touch of his lips. When he reached the bare, supple skin of her thigh, she gave out a cry and wound her fingers more deeply in his hair.

"Shh! We're in a moving carriage on a public street, remember?"

"Are we? I hadn't noticed." She sighed as he pushed her underthings aside and spread her thighs. "It was the first time…the first time we made love."

His hands stroked the soft inner skin of her thighs with reverence. A decade had passed. Some things had changed. The first time was all about exploration and consecration; this time was about reverence and celebration. Yet there was no loss of love…or heat…or desire.

She sat up and pulled the linen dress over her head and then shook out her curls until they cascaded over her porcelain shoulders. Clad only in an ivory silk slip, she was a goddess. His goddess. The rest of the world might see the society beauty, the charity patron, the businesswoman, the mother, the wealthy man's wife, but he got to see all of her…and he loved every single part.

"I am the luckiest man in the world. I love you, Blair."

"Which makes me the luckiest woman, because I love you."

"You never stop amazing me."

"The feeling is mutual. Chuck, what would have happened if we hadn't been able to marry and have Lottie and the boys? I cannot imagine my life without you."

"That would never have happened. There was no other possible outcome; it was fate. In a thousand different worlds and lifetimes, we would always find each other."

"Even if I had turned from it, ran from it…?"

"Even then. I would have just followed. You could hardly expect me to find the other half of myself and then forget about it. I would go to the ends of the earth to see you smile."

"You do not have to go anywhere; I have everything I need to make me happy right here." She pulled him closer, unknotting his bow tie and going to work on the buttons of his shirt.

He pulled her onto his lap, letting his fingers sink into the softness of her thighs before sliding his hands up to cradle the sweet curve of her bottom. God, he would never tire of this.

Her legs came up around him as he pushed them both down on the seat.

"Chuck, now!" She couldn't wait any longer.

"As you wish, Mrs. Bass." She raised her body off the seat a bit, allowing him to slide her underthings over her hips and down her legs. Thank God (and current fashion trends) women's clothing had gotten somewhat simpler.

"Say it again!" She sounded breathless and more than a little aroused.

"People call you Mrs. Bass all the time," he reminded her.

"True," she conceded, "but it never sounds as divine as when it comes from your lips." She brought her lips to his and gasped when he practically threw his coat off his shoulders.

He was pulling her close, as close as they could possibly be. And then he was inside her and their bodies were one.

"I love you, Mrs. Bass." He was stroking her everywhere as they moved together in an expression of love that was as profound as it was primal.

Harder.

Faster.

They held nothing back.

"I love you, I love you, I…," her words rose and then faded into soft cries. Still, they moved in sync, until he followed her into bliss.

They came back to earth slowly, foreheads touching, fingertips stroking, exhaled breaths fanning their faces.

Little by little, the sounds of the horses' hooves and the city at night came to them, though not quite drowning out the sounds of their heartbeats.

The light from the moon and the gas streetlamps shone in the carriage windows, but it didn't outshine the glow in their eyes.

He sat up and pulled her into his lap.

"I do love traveling with you, Mr. Bass," she sighed and shivered a little.

"Are you cold, sweetheart?" He picked up his jacket from the floor of the carriage and wrapped it around her.

"You treat me like a queen." She smiled up at him.

"It's the least I can do since you gave up the chance to be a duchess."

"I would have turned down a king to be Mrs. Bass and mother to our children."

"Even Bertie?" he teased. "I beg your pardon, King Edward VII." Bertie had ascended to the throne in 1901 and despite the responsibilities of being His Majesty, always retained his interest in people and the modern world.

"Give you up? Not even for the whole of the British empire! You are Chuck Bass; you are where my heart lies. Every other man is just a waste of time."

"Even the royal ones." He managed to sound only a bit smug.

She slid off his lap. "Chuck, what became of my dress?"

"You are worried about a frock?"

"It is a sample from Waldorf-Bass Designs," she explained.

He sighed before pocketing his own rogue bow tie and securing the buttons on his clothing. "I will tell Arthur to take us home now."

They leisurely strolled into the foyer and Chuck helped Blair out of her driving coat, only to discover she was only wearing the ivory slip.

Her dress still lay on the carriage floor, quite forgotten.

"We had a lovely drive, didn't we? Are you feeling better about the new motorcar now?" He planted little kisses along her bare shoulder.

She sighed as she moved in closer, nuzzling her chin into his shoulder. "Nothing could ever measure up to being alone with you in the carriage."

"I just want to make all your dreams true."

She closed her eyes and swallowed. "Then take me upstairs, Mr. Bass."

He scooped her up effortlessly and it felt like she was soaring as he made his way up the marble staircase.

"This is just like our honeymoon—our real honeymoon—in Paris," she whispered. "You carried me upstairs that first morning…and set me free from my gilded cage."

"Mrs. Bass?" He paused on the stairs to give her a thorough and passionate kiss.

"Hmm?" Her reply was distant and dreamy.

"We are still on our honeymoon."

She couldn't have agreed more.

To Be Continued in Chapter 15

* * *

Author's Note:

This chapter was written in honor of Limoversary 2016, celebrating the 2007 launch of our OTP's ship. It started out as a lift home in a limo and turned into an epic journey for our characters.

Does this chapter feel like an ending to you? Rest assured, the Cageverse goes on and we will be popping in on the Bass family at various points in their future.

I rather envision Chateau Bass being at Fifth Avenue and 77th Street. That is where William A. Clark, father of heiress Huguette Clark, built an over-the-top French-style mansion that was completed in 1911. It was sadly demolished in 1927 and replaced with an apartment building (something Chuck Bass would never let happen). Although this became the fate of many grand homes along Millionaire's Row (including some from the very elite section of Fifth Avenue between 59th and 78th Streets that was called "The Gold Coast"), there are still some amazing examples of Gilded Age architecture standing.

Once again, I would like to thank all my reviewers and followers, especially the guest reviewer who encouraged me to write a historical story almost a year ago. I adore hearing from my readers, so please don't hesitate to click the review button.

A big thank you to my betas: Chrys1130, Shrk22, Almaloney33 (Happy Anniversary, A!) and Chairship (Fabulous Finder of Missing Words and Typos).

My next update will be _One Secret I'll Never Tell_. I left Chuck and Blair in a bit of a bad situation there and they are not pleased, let me tell you.

Happy Limoversary, friends and fellow fans. My glass is raised to you.

Xoxo


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Southampton, England. April 1912

People called it "the ship of dreams."

RMS Titanic, prize of the White Star line, was a beehive of activity in preparation for its debut launch. It was said to be the very height in luxury travel, with the latest in amenities and safety features that made the ship positively unsinkable. Fine talk, to be sure, though who ever heard of a modern ship sinking on its maiden voyage?

There was a flurry of movement as passengers boarded, crewmen bustled and the air was abuzz with excitement.

Blair Waldorf Bass stood on desk observing it all and trying to muster up one iota of the enthusiasm that surrounded her. Now in her early 30s, Blair was a woman who wore many hats, all with great aplomb and style: society beauty, beloved wife, caring mother and dedicated philanthropist. She was also a shrewd businesswoman, though most would dismiss that as a rumor based on her looks and fashionable dress.

Mrs. Bass did not care about rumors, or mahogany staircases, gourmet menus or any of the other touted features of the ship. She just wanted to go home. Home to Chuck. This was the first time in their fifteen years of marriage that they had ever been apart for such a length of time.

It had been unavoidable. Initially, the plan had been that the family as a whole would come to England and see the twins, Alec and Henry, safely enrolled and established at Eton.

There was never a question that it would be Eton, the alma mater of their father and Uncle Nate. This was met with differing reactions from the boys. Alec was thrilled; he loved experiencing new things and then making up his mind about them. Henry was more reserved in judgment, being just the opposite and wanting information first and experience after. Also, Alec considered himself, at age fourteen, to be a man of the world, whereas Henry loved New York above all other places.

Lottie was beside herself with joy that she would be getting a trip to England and freedom from her brothers' teasing and boisterousness upon her return.

Still, for better or worse, the boys needed a quality education and that's what they were getting. So trunks were packed and preparations were made.

And then one of the fabric warehouses near the docks caught fire and burned down two days before they were due to sail. Bart had accompanied Eleanor on a trip to Paris and was unavailable. Chuck had to stay and handle surveying the damage and coordinating efforts to clean up and rebuild. There was no one else.

Chuck had suggested delaying the boys' enrollment, but Blair insisted that she would be fine accompanying the children herself. And it had all gone off without a hitch. The voyage over was smooth, the boys were now ensconced at Eton, and Blair and Lottie had stopped at Archibald Priory to visit with Serena and Nate.

Liam had been crestfallen that his friends, only a year older than himself, had gotten to start at Eton while he had to wait. A couple of weeks entertaining Lottie, however, completely alleviated his sulking. There simply was no time. Lottie wanted to go riding, to explore the house (she was determined to count every room and see if there really were 365), to investigate the barns and gardens.

Blair enjoyed seeing Nate, Serena and Mrs. Rhodes, who lived in a cottage on the estate. But she was homesick. She missed all the conveniences of her modern home in New York (Had she really contemplated living in this drafty old pile of bricks? It was hopelessly antiquated!) and she missed Chuck. The separation had proven more difficult than she'd anticipated. She was especially tired of sleeping alone. So she made the decision to go home early.

Once passage had been secured, Blair informed them all at dinner that she and Lottie would be departing in a few days' time.

"Mother," Lottie shrieked, "I cannot possibly leave now! Liam was just going to show me..." She launched into a list of future explorations that would've exhausted even Magellan.

Blair rolled her eyes even as Serena proposed a solution: "Lottie could stay here with us until we come to New York this summer!"

"Oh, yes, please, Mother!" Lottie looked at Serena in gratitude.

"But you have already missed so much school…," Blair pointed out.

"Exactly! A little more will not hurt," Lottie cajoled.

"She could share Liam's tutor," Nate suggested.

"Are you sure you want to take on the responsibility of my wild daughter for two or three more months?"

"Oh, Blair, you know Lottie is like our very own daughter. We would love to have her."

"Please, Mama," Lottie looked up at Blair with eyes so similar in shape, color and expression to Chuck's…well, how could her mother say no?

"I suppose it is only a few weeks. Are you sure you want to stay, Lottie?"

Lottie didn't say anything, but she shared a grin with Liam and beamed at her Auntie Rena. Her feelings were clear.

'She is certainly your daughter, Chuck,' Blair thought. 'She knows exactly how to sway me to her side.' She smiled as she thought of her husband. It wouldn't be long now. She was going home to Chuck.

Saying goodbye at the docks, Serena had fussed over Blair traveling alone, but Blair insisted she was fine, even with her beloved Dorota still back in New York. Many passengers were traveling with servants, but the ship was well-staffed and Blair was confident she'd be well cared for even on her own. Any other time, she would've felt very inconvenienced, but what was more inconvenient than missing her husband?

She kissed her daughter farewell, admonishing her to behave like a lady and to remember that her parents loved her very much.

When the ship moved out of the harbor at noon that Wednesday, April 10, Blair breathed a sigh of relief. In just seven days she would be back home.

Left to her own devices, Blair toured the ship. It was magnificent, certainly more luxurious than any sailing ship she'd ever encountered. The staterooms were modern, stylish and comfortable, with fancy beds and plenty of room in the First Class suites. Should one feel inclined to venture out, there was a salt water swimming pool, gymnasium, library, barber shop, promenade deck, squash court, restaurants and dining saloons—including a restaurant that was designed to mimic a sidewalk café in Paris.

Blair couldn't help but think how much more exciting it would have been had Chuck been with her. And then she discovered the Turkish Baths, a complex consisting of a temperate room, a cool room for massage, a hot room, a steam room and a shampoo room. There was also a nearby swimming pool to dip in after one's spa experience. The Turkish Baths were made to look like their namesake, with blue-green tiles, teak wood trim and exotic bronze lamps. There was an extra charge for admittance to the Baths and they were segregated by gender, open to the ladies in the morning and the gentlemen in the afternoon. Blair felt certain, however, that had Chuck been there, he could have convinced the staff to give them some precious time together to explore the facilities and each other.

Blair may have been alone, but she did not feel especially lonely, other than missing her husband. She went to the library and borrowed a smart new novel. She wrote encouraging letters to her boys (she worried that Henry might be getting homesick and Alec might be getting into trouble), a chatty note to her daughter (with another reminder to behave "like a Bass should"), a bit of a travelogue about the ship to her mother and a book recommendation to her father-in-law. She interspersed her time reading and writing with walks on the promenade deck and, of course, delicious meals at a restaurant or in the dining saloon.

She was surprised to see many people she knew from New York in the dining saloon. She nodded to John Jacob Astor IV and his young bride, although Bart would not have approved, being an intense competitor of the Astor family for real estate investments. Ida and Isidor Strauss, owners of Macy's department store, were next on the list. Macy's carried many Waldorf-Bass garments and the Strausses made such an endearing couple. Blair liked to imagine that she and Chuck would be the same after forty years of marriage. Mr. Benjamin Guggenheim, a gentleman with a keen sense of style that sought to rival that of Chuck Bass, bowed low and kissed her hand.

The real treat was that she was seated with Mrs. Margaret ("Call me Maggie; my friends do") Brown, a lively dynamo of energy who had been traveling with the Astors, recently to Egypt. She was a fascinating storyteller and Blair was transfixed by her tales of the pyramids and the kingdoms of the Nile.

Good company was essential for the long, extravagant First Class dinners composed of many courses. The first was hors d'ouerves, followed by soups, a course of poached salmon, then filet mignon with vegetables. Oh, but they were just getting started! This was followed by a choice of duck, lamb or beef, also with vegetables. To cleanse the palate, punch was served, before returning to roast squab, then pate, and then a lovely selection of puddings and ice cream. The meal ended with fresh fruit and cheeses before the gentlemen headed off for the smoking rooms.

Blair usually used her time after dinner to do some drawings of clothing designs or to jot down notes about the ship and the voyage to share with her family later or to simply read and dream of her homecoming. It was a glittering world aboard the ship, but oh how she wished she could see the boys compete on the squash court, hear Lottie's excited commentary about dinner and their fellow guests, feel Chuck's arms wrapped around her in that lovely bed in the stateroom.

Still, they had sailed on the 10th and it was now the night of the 14th. They were more than halfway through the voyage. Not that she was counting down….

Determinedly, she picked up the novel she was nearly through and curled up in her bed to read. Her eyelids were so heavy….

Suddenly, a loud crash was heard and the ship lurched, throwing Blair out of the four-poster and onto the floor. She reached for her pendant watch on the bedside table. 11:40. It was dark, so it must still be nighttime. Whatever could be happening?

Fastening her robe about her shoulders, Blair peeked out into the hall and saw , er, Maggie, doing the exact same thing across the way.

There were men in nightwear discussing the situation, but they didn't seem overly concerned. The two women looked at each other, shrugged and went back into their staterooms.

The chaos on the ship, however, seemed to escalate rather than calm. Blair once more opened the door, only to see a man running down the hall, yelling, "Get your life preserver!"

She froze, her face growing pale and her eyes widening. Oh, dear God, this could not be happening. It was the ship's maiden voyage. She was on her way home, on her way back to Chuck….

Across the hall, Mrs. Brown, who was already dressed, took one look at her companion's shocked expression and started barking orders. "Mrs. Bass, go back in your room, get dressed—the warmest clothing you have-and meet me out here. Go on, hurry!"

Startled into alertness, Blair did as she was told. When she returned to the hall, Maggie was clutching a turquoise figurine tightly in her hand.

"What is that?" Blair's curiosity was overcoming her shock at the situation.

"Something I got on the trip to Egypt. It's for luck. Do you have something for luck?"

Blair unbuttoned the top 2 buttons of her dress, revealing a dazzling necklace. "It's the luckiest thing I own. Chuck gave it to me during our honeymoon and I wore it at our wedding."

The timing of that made no sense to Mrs. Brown, but neither did anything else that was happening on the ship tonight. "Good," she nodded, "Let's get up on deck now."

Already the deck was filled with people growing increasingly panicked. It was a cold, clear night, and many people were still in their nightclothes, shivering. The band continued to play and the music seemed to be the only calm, sane thing in a world gone mad.

There was talk the ship had struck an iceberg, which was not an uncommon danger in April in the North Atlantic, but why was the purportedly "unsinkable" vessel now clearly listing to the side? Some passengers refused to believe it, and resisted the idea of getting on a lifeboat, preferring to wait.

Blair watched Mrs. Brown talk to other passengers, comforting both the adults and children, and tried to draw strength from her words. The scene still had an air of unreality to it. How could she and Chuck have made it through all they had survived to come to this? Before tonight, they had been kept apart by a sea between them, now that same sea was threatening to separate them permanently.

Blair was neither afraid of drowning nor dying, but she was terrified at the thought of never seeing Chuck again, of knowing their dreams for the future would be ended, of not seeing their children grow to adulthood.

Even under her heavy cloak and extra layers of clothing, she shivered as every part of her screamed for her husband and family.

* * *

Chuck Bass sat in his home office, his head in his hands, surrounded by newspapers from several cities and reports from Pinkerton Agency detectives.

It was almost midnight on the night of April 18. He was pale, his hair was tousled and his scotch glass empty. He had recently returned from the docks, where the RMS Carpathia had just delivered her own passengers along with 705 rescued from the now lost RMS Titanic.

At approximately 2:20 a.m. on April 15, the ship had gone to its watery grave, taking over 1500 souls with it. Those fortunate enough to have gotten onto lifeboats still had to wait for rescue for an additional hour and twenty minutes. But the Carpathia had heroically stepped up, dodging icebergs and traveling at maximum speed to reach the shocked and shivering survivors. The captain, crew and passengers had all worked hard and made sacrifices to help the weary travelers reach New York.

First Class passengers stood the best chances for survival, but it was by no means a sure thing. Wealth and luxury guaranteed nothing, and death was no respecter of persons. It was already rumored that John Jacob Astor IV had gone down with the ship, along with Benjamin Guggenheim and the Strausses.

It was tragic and terrible, but right now Chuck was focused on one thing and one thing only: Where was Blair?

His last communication from her had been a cable stating that the ship had sailed and was expected to be in port on April 17. Then she had said something puzzling about missing him in the Turkish Baths.

The news that the ship had sunk took him, along with the rest of the world, by surprise.

He had not panicked immediately. Surely someone would have made sure that the wife of one of the richest industrialists in America would get onto a lifeboat? That had happened for young Mrs. Astor.

But when more and more time passed without word of Blair's survival, panic crept in and then fully took over. Chuck had scoured every newspaper account of the disaster, looked over every list of survivors, hired some of Pinkerton's men to get even more intel. And still…nothing. She wasn't on the list of the lost or the survivors.

Where was she?

Dear God, how had this happened?

Chuck Bass lived for his family. Ever since that fateful day he had learned that Blair would be his and they were expecting a child together, he had made it his mission to care and provide for her.

This was his fault, he knew. He wanted to give her the world, but he couldn't even keep her safe. This would never have happened had he been there with her, as he should have been. Even if it meant losing his own life, he would've made sure she was safely on one of those lifeboats, just as Astor had done.

Chuck had sworn to her father during their Paris trip that seemed a lifetime ago that, no matter what, if Blair should need him, he would be there. He had broken that vow. He had failed her, himself and their family.

Not knowing if she were alive or dead had been torturing him for the last three days. He had raged and drank and locked himself away in his study. Eventually, he sent the entire staff away; he wanted to be alone.

Except he didn't feel alone.

This was Blair's house. Her unique stamp was on everything, every square foot of the house and all it contained. If he looked left, a large portrait of Blair and their children was hanging on the wall. To the right, was a photograph of her on his desk. He could not escape, nor did he want to. It wouldn't be his world without her in it.

He'd hung such hopes on going to the docks tonight. Surely if she'd made it onto a lifeboat, then she'd made it onto the Carpathia, and he'd see her face and it would be like their first meeting all over again. He would be able to breathe again, to live again.

But he'd paced in front of the ship for hours as survivors disembarked, then he'd pestered the crew to be sure that no passengers remained aboard, but still…no Blair.

If she were truly gone, shouldn't he able to feel it somehow? Or did he love her so much and for so long now that she would always feel like part of him?

If she were truly gone, how would he tell Charlotte and the boys? Bart and Eleanor? Harold? How would _he_ survive?

Once, long ago, before he'd met Blair, Chuck had felt as though he were cursed, that his mother's life ending the day his began had forever marked him for unhappiness. He hadn't even believed happiness was a possibility. But somehow, some way, _she_ had made him believe, _she_ had made it happen.

And now she was gone.

He reached for his glass and, finding it empty, hurled it against the far wall in an explosion of Waterford crystal and temper.

He looked up at the liquor-splashed portrait and it almost seemed that she was looking at him reprovingly.

He got up then, and fishing his handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned every spot off the glass and frame of the portrait. Then he stumbled back to his desk and sat down.

He would go over it all again. One more time. And he would not give up until he knew for sure, one way or the other, what had happened to his beautiful Blair. He decided to start with the survivor list again. He'd gone over the Bs and the Ws numerous times, but this time he started with the As and read each name one by one.

He was in the mid-Cs when the front door clicked.

Oh, for heaven's sake, couldn't they understand that he really, truly wanted to be alone right now? Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so, because a voice called his name. Softly at first, then a little louder.

A very familiar voice.

Great, he'd drunk so much that now he was having hallucinations. Such a sweet dream, he didn't want to wake. He kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on the sheet of paper in front of him.

The voice called his name even louder.

Maybe he was supposed to respond? Maybe it was all part of the dream.

He got up slowly and opened the French doors into the foyer.

And there she was….

She was dressed in a plain black cloak with the hood sliding off to reveal her hair pulled back into a simple knot at the base of her neck.

And she was still calling his name.

"Are you…," his voice seemed hoarse, as if he were unaccustomed to speaking, "are you real?" His hand came up to touch her face.

She smiled then. "Oh, darling, the only thing that has ever been real is you and me." Tears welled in her eyes as he pulled her into a crushing embrace.

He smelled the night air in her hair, felt the curve of her back where it melted into the small of her waist and flared into the fullness of her hip. She felt real.

"Let me look at you," he pulled back and touched her jaw, letting his hand roam over the fullness of her lips, the softness of her cheeks, the feathery wings of her eyebrows.

Her eyelids closed in quiet joy as he continued the exploration. "I rather hoped you might want to kiss me."

"More than I want to breathe at this moment," he confessed.

A little shudder ran through her at the words spoken in that beloved voice. Then she was studying him right back: the sharp jawline, the proud chin, lips made for sin, and then the eyes—seeking, knowing, loving her.

They stood like that, hanging by a moment, lost in each other before their lips met. For a second, it was light, a whisper of a touch, and it deepened slowly, then all at once and their lips and tongues were stroking, dancing, memorizing each other once more.

Her hands stole around his neck and locked there, as if to announce their intention of never letting go.

"I missed you," she whispered against his mouth, "so much."

"Not as much as I missed you," he argued. "Shall I show you how much?"

"Mmm," she murmured. "Mr. Bass?"

"Yes, Mrs. Bass?"

She was suddenly serious again. "I love you. I was afraid I would never be able to tell you so again."

His eyes were suspiciously wet. "I was terrified I had lost you. I couldn't bear it. Don't you understand, Blair? I love you, more than anything else in this world, more than my own life."

"Show me," she whispered.

His hands slid down to scoop her into his arms and carry her up the staircase.

They belonged to each other and the night.

* * *

Chuck had just spread his precious burden out on their bed when he realized Blair was shivering. "Are you cold, sweetheart?"

"Yes, I haven't really felt warm since getting in the lifeboat." Her teeth were almost chattering and she clung to him more tightly.

"I'm a beast not to be making sure you are comfortable." He pulled her into a sitting position. "Let me draw you a bath and let's see if we can warm you up."

She grabbed his lapels and held on. "No, Chuck, I have waited so long to be with you again. I don't want to wait any longer."

"Who said you'd be without me? Haven't we always enjoyed a nice, long…soak in the tub?" He gave her a look that definitely made her blood feel warmer. "Besides, I will never be away from you again," he took both her hands in his, "I swear it."

He disappeared for a moment to start the taps flowing, but then he was back. "Let's get these things off you," he gestured to the plain, dark woolen dress she was wearing and the layers of stockings. "I know these are not your clothes."

"No," she shook her head. "My dress and cloak were torn going from the ship to the lifeboat to the Carpathia. The passengers and crew were so kind, Chuck. They shared everything with us. Space, food, clothing. There were just as many survivors as passengers on the Carpathia. Mrs. Brown is starting a committee to reward them and to help the survivors. I have said I will help her."

"Tell me how you got into a lifeboat. I know many were not so fortunate."

"My stateroom was across the hall from Margaret Brown's. I dressed and went up on deck with her. It was such chaos, but some things seemed perfectly normal. The band was playing, I remember that. The Strausses were sitting in a deck chair holding hands. Mr. Guggenheim went back to this room and changed into his best suit. Some children were crying and Maggie was trying to comfort them…."

"The press is calling her The Unsinkable Molly Brown," Chuck grinned.

"I'm not sure why they're calling her Molly, but "Unsinkable" definitely describes her spirit. She's a force of nature. Did you know she brought a little statue she'd bought in Egypt along with us for luck?" Blair smiled then. "She even suggested I bring my own good luck charm."

"And did you?"

Blair unbuttoned her plain frock to proudly reveal the brilliant necklace Chuck had given her. "I wore it on our honeymoon in Paris and on the day we got married. What could be luckier?"

"Did you have trouble getting a lifeboat?"

"They were filling Lifeboat #6 and a man said to Maggie, 'You are going too.' He picked her up and dropped her into the boat. The he grabbed me and said, "You too, madame." It was about a four foot drop. We were lucky; the quartermaster of the Titanic was in charge of our boat. There were so many who needed help, Mrs. Brown and several others wanted to go back and try to rescue all that we could. Mr. Hitchens—that was the quartermaster—said we needed to get as far from the ship as possible, so it wouldn't pull us down with it. He won the argument and we were safe, but, oh, Chuck, it was so horrible to see those people struggle. To hear them in the water, and then…nothing. I shall never forget it."

"Well, I, for one, am very glad that Hitchens fellow knew what he was doing."

"The ship completely disappeared under the water sometime around 2:30, but we had to wait for the Carpathia and that was another hour and twenty minutes. It seemed so long, like help was never going to come and it was so cold." She began to cry and Chuck pulled her close and wiped her tears.

"The longest time in my life was when I kept waiting to hear if you had been rescued. I checked the papers every day, but there was no news. Why was that?"

"They got my name wrong on the list. I didn't know until we reached New York. The young man wrote down Claire Cod."

Chuck shuddered. "Hopelessly incompetent!"

"But why didn't I see you get off the ship?"

"I was looking for you or Arthur or Dorota or…someone, but no one was there."

"I sent them home and drove myself."

"But I didn't see you."

"There was a crush of people and I was pacing up and down the dock," he admitted.

When I couldn't find you, some kind people offered me a ride and I accepted. Their transport was delayed, so we all had to wait longer. I just needed to get home to you."

"Perhaps I did not recognize you in the hooded cloak and these clothes; they are not your usual attire. You are here now, and that is all that matters."

"Chuck, can we not talk about this anymore tonight? I just…need to forget for a little while," she pleaded.

"No talking," he nodded. "I will make you feel warm and safe and loved." It was a solemn promise and he unrolled her stockings, unbuttoned her dress and gently slid her underthings from her body without a word. He then removed his own clothing and moved on to the knot of hair at the base of her neck, gently slipping the pins out one by one. He ran his fingers through her unbound hair, unraveling the curls into a dark curtain that flowed over her shoulders.

"My beautiful Blair," he whispered.

The bath had finished filling, so he stepped into the tub and took her hands to help her. Now they were both in the huge porcelain tub, with Blair encased in his arms.

He took his time planting tiny kisses across her shoulders before washing her hair, massaging little circles on her scalp, her neck, her back….

She let out a little sound of happiness…

Then another…

And another….

And then she was kissing him like they'd never been apart, like fifteen years had not passed, like they were back on their honeymoon.

At the moment they were physically joined again, Chuck forced his eyes open, studying her and finally letting himself believe…she was here, she was home, she was _his_ home.

Her eyes opened as well, and she returned his gaze.

Something passed between them, something more than physical.

It was emotional, spiritual…inevitable.

Neither a gilded cage nor the icy depths of the sea could tear them apart.

They were together and theirs was a great love.

FIN

* * *

Author's Note:

Greetings, readers, I have missed you. I hope you enjoyed this latest installment in the Bass family story. I always love to hear your reactions, so feel free to drop me a line or leave me a review.

Thank you so much to the reader/reviewer who suggested I try my hand at a historical. It was great fun.

Special thanks to my beta friends: Chrys1130, Shrk22 and Chairship.

And a little wave to my friend Xana.


End file.
